


Uncle Quentin's Spy

by Starfox5



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Good Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 109,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfox5/pseuds/Starfox5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer following her 4th year at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger is visited by a great-uncle she hasn’t met before, and learns that the world is older than she thought, and that wizards are not the only ones fighting the forces of Darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Visits

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter books or movies. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters in the series.
> 
> Cover: https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/234594506/Hermione%20-%20Uncle%20Quentin%20Cover%202.jpg

**Chapter 1: Unexpected Visits**

Hermione Granger was not in a good mood when she returned to her home from a trip to the local library. Usually she loved visiting the libraries during the summer holidays, browsing the new books, sifting through the newspapers, catching up with the real world after months spent in rather isolated Wizarding Britain. This summer though it was different. Her best friend, Harry Potter, had spent most of the last school year worrying about surviving a barbaric tournament he had been forced to participate in. And at the very moment the tournament had ended he had been kidnapped by the murderer of his parents, tortured, and barely escaped with his life while a fellow student had been murdered in front of him. And now he was back with his relatives, who hated him, and the headmaster of her school had forbidden her from writing Harry.

She didn’t know why she couldn’t write Harry. Common sense said he needed all the lo… all the friends he had to deal with the traumatic experiences he had gone through. But Dumbledore was the wisest wizard of Britain, he had to know what he was doing. And yet she doubted. Wanted to disobey. It tore at her, imagining Harry alone, friendless, surrounded by his awful relatives. And yet she couldn’t do anything.

Sighing, she entered her home, then blinked when she heard her mother talking with another person in the living room. It was too early for her mother’s friends to come over for tea, and her father was still at their practise.

“Hermione? We have a guest.” Her mother sounded a bit off. Not the same tone she used when introducing a guest she’d rather have leave, but was too polite to say so, nor the friendly tone that indicated a good friend or a family member.

Hermione stepped into their living room and saw an older man standing up and smile at her. He wore a tweed suit, rather old-fashioned but sturdy.

“Hermione, this is your great-uncle Quentin. Quentin Travers. Uncle Quentin, this is Hermione.”

Her great-uncle - mother’s uncle, she noted - had a firm handshake. “A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot of you. Best student of your year at Hogwarts, right?”

Hermione froze, then looked over at her mother. Before she could say anything, Mrs Granger shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. He already knew.”

The young witch glanced at the man’s hand, then met his eyes. He smiled, and shook his head. “I am no wizard, Hermione. But I know about the magical world. I am a Watcher.”

Hermione blinked. “A Watcher?”

His smile grew wider. “Let us sit down, dear, and let me explain.” Hermione sat down, barely noticing her mother filling her tea cup. Her thoughts were racing. Was this a breach of the Statute of Secrecy? A ploy from Voldemort? A trap? Or did her family have wizard roots? Or wizard in-laws? What was a Watcher? Only her good manners, drilled into her by her parents, and her mother’s presence prevented her from voicing all those questions as fast as she could think of them.

Her great-uncle - if that was no ruse - took a sip from his own cup, leaned back, and smiled as if he understood just what she was thinking. “The world is older than you know…”

*****

Hermione had forgotten about her tea and her biscuits while she had listened to ‘Uncle Quentin’s’ mind-boggling revelations. Wizards were not the only ones who knew about magic. Not the only ones who fought against magical dangers. Muggles did that too. Had done so for millennia, to defend humanity. It shook her world view to the core. For four years she had been taught that muggles were ignorant, couldn’t understand magic or wizards, and now her great-uncle told her differently. “So… Watchers are those who guide and support the chosen one, the Slayer. The one girl in the world who can fight demons and vampires and other magical dangers.”

Travers nodded. “Correct. I am a Senior Watcher. It’s a family tradition. My father was the Head of the Watchers Council. We train the Slayer, support her in her mission, and collect knowledge about supernatural threats she might have to fight. Our libraries date back to the time writing was invented, but our lore goes even further back.” Hermione had to swallow at the thought of all that knowledge, all those books… she had thought the library in Hogwarts was great, but this? A slight touch by her mother shook her from her sudden fantasies.

“Ah. But why are you telling me this? I imagine you’re sworn to secrecy, since I haven’t heard about anything like this before.” Hermione didn’t know if her great-uncle wanted to recruit her… was she maybe the next Slayer?

“We are not exactly sworn to secrecy, but with the Wizards enforcing the Statute of Secrecy, greater discretion has become quite necessary for us to work without interference by misguided wizards. Though the various governments are quite aware of us and our mission.” That was a good thing, in Hermione’s opinion. “As to the reason for my visit - apart from getting to know my grandniece - the Council has questions concerning recent events.” He pulled out a few newspapers from his suitcase. Magical newspapers, Hermione realized - if one could call the Daily Prophet that.

“Oh.” Those were articles detailing the tournament, including the one who had denounced her as a gold digging slut. Just remembering the morning that piece of slander had arrived at Hogwarts made her angry.

Travers nodded. “When I found out that my grandniece was mentioned in some of those articles, I thought that you might be able to tell me what is currently going on in Wizarding Britain. There are rather disturbing rumors floating around.”

“Oh.” Hermione leaned forward and took a closer look at the Daily Prophets. There were not just the older issues, but also more recent ones. With articles about Harry... calling him a delusional liar? She looked up, anger evident on her face and in her voice. “That’s not true! He’s no liar!”

She stared at her great-uncle, chin raised. “Those newspapers are not worth the paper they are printed on!”

Travers smiled apologetically at her, spreading his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Can you tell me what really happened?”

Hermione could.

*****

Harry Potter wasn’t having a good day. Or week. He was stuck at Privet Drive, stuck with a family who hated him, isolated and cut off from his friends. His nights were plagued with nightmares in which dead Cedric Diggory appeared to blame and curse him while a laughing doll was torturing him before growing into a snake-faced monster who then tortured him again.

And his days consisted of chores and boredom, and hateful glances and remarks from his aunt and her family. His relatives, not his family, despite the blood ties. He wasn’t allowed to do magic - not that he would, it being illegal for an underage wizard during the vacations - nor permitted to read his magic school books. And his friends were not writing him. That hurt. At least he had his wand on him - with Voldemort resurrected, it might be his only defense. Illegal or not.

He glared at the weed he had yet to pull from Petunia’s garden. Having to weed the rose bushes wasn’t a big deal in itself, Harry felt. Other kids on the street did the same, some even more, though he suspected those worked to earn some money. What made him despise the chores he did was that his cousin Dudley didn’t do any chores, ever.

Wiping the sweat from his brows with the back of his lower arm - his work gloves would only smear dirt all over his face, and pulling them off every few minutes was a chore in itself - he was about to resume his work when he heard a car pull into their drive. It was far too early to be Vernon. Curious, and wishing to do anything but weeding right now, he walked to the front of the house, to see who had arrived.

He saw a large Mercedes in the driveway. He wasn’t up to date with car models, but it looked new and expensive. Then again, it was a Mercedes, the latter was expected. When the doors opened he forgot about the model at once.

“Hermione!” He took a step towards them, then remembered he had been weeding the garden and was both sweaty and dirty, and wearing old and worn clothes. Briefly he thought that at least this way he had an excuse for dressing in rags.

“Harry!” Hermione rushed towards him and for a moment he feared - or hoped - she’d hug him, and ruin her summer dress. Though she stopped in time, and looked him over with a smile. A smile she lost a few seconds later.

“How are you doing?” She started to bite her lower lip, some habit he knew she had when she was embarrassed or nervous. He couldn’t think of a reason for her to be either though.

“Same old same old, I guess.” He shrugged, and nodded towards the garden. “My time is split between chores and boredom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. I should have written, but Dumbledore said we were not allowed to contact you!” Again she almost hugged him, settling for gripping his shoulders, and he was briefly distracted from processing her words when he caught a glimpse down her dress.

“He said what?” He didn’t blush, and and if he did it would be mistaken for anger or blamed on the sun and his hard work.

“He forbid me and Ron to write to you. He said you needed to be alone to deal with the effects of the tournament.” The way Hermione was biting her lower lip now, almost drawing blood, she had to be thinking he was angry.

“Why would he say that?” Harry was confused. Dumbledore hadn’t said anything like that to him, before he had left Hogwarts.

“I do not know.” Hermione sounded so vexed, Harry briefly checked where his feet were, just in case she decided to stomp her foot. Or his, by accident.

Before they could talk further, the sound of a man clearing his throat caused both to take a step back. An older man stood there, wearing a tweed suit.

Hermione did blush. “Ah, sorry. Uncle Quentin, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my great-uncle Quentin Travers.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Potter.” For an old man “Uncle Quentin” had a firm handshake, Harry found out after removing his gloves. He sent a glance at Hermione, slightly confused now.

“Uncle Quentin has invited us to spend a day in the City, browse the bookstores, go shopping a bit.” Hermione beamed at him, but still looked a bit nervous. Harry’s confusion had grown worse - such things didn’t happen to him, he had learned that - but he trusted Hermione and wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’ll have to change into … better … clothes.” Not good clothes, of course. Only his robes qualified as that, and he couldn’t wear them in muggle London. He suddenly realized they had been standing in front of the door for some minutes now. “Ah… please excuse my lapse in manners, come inside.”

His aunt was buying groceries and Dudley was out with his friends - or gang - so no one was inside who’d trouble Hermione and her uncle. Harry left them in the living room and hurried upstairs for a quick shower and change of clothes.

When he came down he caught Mister Travers studying the pictures at the wall. From the way he looked at Harry without saying anything, Harry took that the man had noticed the lack of any pictures showing him. Hermione certainly seemed to have realized it with the way her eyes were blazing. She looked like she wanted to turn the living room into rubble. Hugging him seemed to calm her down some, but she was still muttering words she’d chastise Ron for when they were pulling out of the driveway.

“Thank you again, Sir, for inviting me to this outing.” Harry smiled. Then he noticed Hermione flinching, and putting dents into her lip again.

“It’s my pleasure, Mister Potter. But while we will spend some time shopping - for books and clothes - I must confess we also have an ulterior motive for taking you with us.”

Harry tensed up, then glanded at Hermione. She smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, Harry. He’s here to help you.”

  
“Indeed, Mister Potter. Let me start at the beginning. The world is older than you know…”

*****

Quentin Travers was smiling at the boy - the young man, young wizard, he corrected himself - sitting in his office next to his grandniece. The shopping hadn’t taken much time, his niece’s tales about Hermione’s passion for books notwithstanding. He hadn’t had to spend much of the budget for this mission yet either, a few books and some decent clothes for the young man had not cost much. And in exchange the Council had not only gained a source of information very close to one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, but two potential recruits for the Watchers as well.

Hermione… she was a chip of the old block, he could see that. Passionate, determined, ruthless. She’d be a good Watcher even if she wasn’t a witch. As a witch though, and with family ties to the Council, she was priceless. The girl only needed a bit of polish and she’d be one of the greatest assets of the Council.

Mister Potter had potential as well, and seemed very close to his grandniece. He trusted her with his life, a blind man could see that. Quentin was quite certain that if Hermione became a Watcher, her friend would follow. If he survived. What he had told them from the ritual he had taken part in as a sacrifice was not promising, and that scar…

“You might have already guessed that we have a number of witches and wizards among our ranks. And a number of Watchers who can use certain rituals, but not wands.” He smiled at them. Harry gaped - he hadn’t suspected such a thing - but his grandniece was sharp. Chip of the old block indeed. If only her mother had not been so set on defying her family and becoming a dentist… “If you wish you can get training from them, during the summer. We’ve got a library with tomes I am quite sure not even your school has, and spells you’re unlikely to be taught.” Lethal ones.

Hermione’s eyes lit up, then she bit her lips. “But the prohibition on underage magic...”

Quentin smiled. “Don’t worry about that. We have a selection of wands you can pick, all without the trace.” Wands from Watchers who died, usually violently, in the Council’s service, but he would not tell them that yet. His grandniece beamed at him, and elbowed her friend. Quentin knew the deal had just been closed. Another step completed.

“What will you do about Voldemort, Uncle? He’s out there, building up his forces.”

“We’ve recalled the Slayer. She’s on her way back to England.” And with the list of Death Eaters Voldemort had named in front of Harry the Slayer had a number of targets to go after. One of them would talk, and they’d find that Dark Lord.

“The Slayer…it still feels odd knowing she’s not a legend, but an actual person.” Hermione sounded impressed. Quentin controlled his urge to correct the girl. The Slayer was a weapon. A weapon to be used for the protection of humanity. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to use her against the wizards. They feared her as an unstoppable, immortal killing machine, relentlessly hunting down and exterminating wizards who crossed the line. Although as a Senior Watcher he was aware it was a bluff. It had cost the lives of three Slayers in a single year, back in the 17th century, and the extermination of an entire wizard family, to convince the wizards that the Slayer couldn’t be stopped. To convince them that they could not rule humanity. That they should hide instead. Sending her against the Death Eaters now could threaten that reputation. But by all accounts Voldemort was too great a threat for Watchers to deal with.

“You might meet her, if you spend more time here, training.” He smiled at Hermione and Mister Potter, dangling another carrot in front of them. “Maybe you could help us out even, Hermione.” Her eyes lit up again - the girl wanted to help, and wanted to feel needed even more. So much like her grandmother.

“How can I help, uncle?” She all but bounced on her seat.

“We’ve got a small potion lab here, but… we don’t have any good brewers among our ranks.” Most of the magical Watchers were muggleborn wizards, and those didn’t fare well in Potions at Hogwarts. Not since Snape had taken over.

“Of course! What potions do you need?”

“Veritaserum, mainly. Many of the other useful ones we can buy.” Judging by her expression when she nodded she understood and approved.

“I can brew that. It’ll take me a month, but I can do that. My parents will have to change their plans.” She didn’t sound like there was any doubt that her parents would do exactly that. Quentin approved of her priorities.

“We can fetch both of you in the mornings, and drive you back in the evenings. To keep your cover you could tell your relatives that you’ve taken a summer job.” Quentin took care not to let any pity for the young man’s situation show. A young man had his pride, after all.

“Thank you, sir. I can change some of my galleons into pounds, and tell them it’s money earned.” From the look the young wizard shot him he had not missed the gesture. He was sharper than Quentin had assumed then.

“There’s no need for that. If you help us like you just did, we’ll certainly compensate you for your troubles.” And let you grow accustomed to working for us.

*****

Harry Potter was enjoying the best summer in his life. He had fitting clothes, no more chores, and even was earning money. He only slept at Privet Drive these days, and ignored his relatives. They had accepted his tale of having found a summer job without any question other than what money he’d earn - and then demanded most of it as payment for “room and board”. Harry had expected that, and had lied about his wage.

Each morning a car came to fetch him. They’d stop on the way to London for breakfast, and then he’d spend the morning in the Council’s headquarters, training with Watchers and Hermione when his friend wasn’t brewing. He wished she’d spend more time with him and the Watchers, but he didn’t complain - her work was important and he still saw far more of her than during any other summer, and enjoyed her company at lunch and dinner.

Currently John Fitzburg was teaching him an incendiary spell created to set vampires ablaze at a distance. John was a muggleborn wizard who had joined the Council after spending a few years as a clerk in a shop in Diagon Alley making minimum wages despite his excellent grades at Hogwart. He wore casual clothes, unlike most other Watchers Harry had seen. Probably due to his training though - cheaper to replace in case something got damaged.

The spell required less aiming than Incendio, but caused more collateral damage. John swore by it though. “Those leeches are too fast for your usual aimed spells. You need spells that hit the space they are in and the space they are moving into to torch them.”

Harry pointed his wand at the targets set up at the now blackened wall again, and went through the wand movements a few times, then cast again. This time a cone of fire erupted from the tip of his wand, engulfing the entire wall. “Wow.”

John blinked, then smiled. “Excellent work, Harry!” He clapped Harry on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “If that had been a vampire he’d be ashes now. I bet even a master vampire wouldn’t have been able to evade that.”

Harry nodded. He remembered Remus’ lessons about vampires in his third year, but the werewolf had not gone into half the details he was learning at the Council. “Why don’t we learn this spell at Hogwarts if it’s the best defense against vampires?”

John took a deep breath, and handed him a bottle of cola. “I don’t know, you understand. I can only speculate.” Harry nodded, prodding him to go on. “But I think the spell is a bit too lethal for the school there. They don’t want the students to learn such spells.”

“But wouldn’t that leave them vulnerable to vampires?” Harry didn’t understand that reasoning. As he had learned from John and Uncle Quentin, vampires were a plague on mankind. Anyone able to should learn how to destroy them.

“Vampires tend not to go after wizards. They can escape too easily with apparition and might get lucky with a spell. Wards repel them even if they were invited, and the aurors hunt them down should they appear in a Wizard enclave. For a fledgling, going after a wizard is akin to suicide. And master vampires usually go after easier prey.

“Ah. Do the aurors kill a lot of vampires?”

John frowned. “No. They only act if wizards are in danger.” His expression dissuaded Harry from asking a follow-up question. He had quickly learned that just about every Watcher had lost a friend or loved one to vampires or other demons.

John smiled. “Now… the next spell is a variation of the Cutting Curse. It decapitates a target. Many demons die if they lose their head, so it’s quite useful, but you need good aim.”

Harry grinned, and paid close attention to the demonstration. Hermione would join them soon, and he liked to help teach her the spells.

*****

Hermione was impressed by the Slayer, India Cohen. A girl not much older than herself, but she had done so much already since she had been called in 1993. She had saved so many people. Apart from that, the Slayer had a presence that was impossible to miss or dismiss and moved with effortless grace, like a predator. After a few seconds watching her Hermione knew with certainty that she was the deadliest person she had ever met. She understood now, at least in part, why wizards feared the Slayer. India wore simple clothes - pullover, jeans, boots. A leather jacket. Sturdy, easy to replace.

India was so focused on her mission, as if nothing could ever stop her. The young witch admired that dedication. That sense of purpose. If Harry was more like that… she frowned at the thought. Maybe not quite like that. India didn’t seem to have any friends, only her Watcher, Christopher Botwell, seemed close to her, and a Slayer’s Watcher was more a guardian than a friend. Uncle Quentin had told her that. Too bad Harry had already gone back to his relatives when India and Botwell had arrived at Headquarters. She was sure he would have loved to talk with another person who had been chosen, of sorts.

“And here’s the cauldron I am brewing veritaserum in. It has to stay at the exact temperature for a moon cycle as it matures, getting stirred at precise intervals. Most of the ingredients have already been put in, so most of the work is done but for the waiting.” She was showing them the potion lab she was using to brew veritaserum, explaining the different tools and ingredients. It was quite different from the lab at Hogwarts. Better lights, better ventilation, better furniture she thought. It didn’t look like it was a few hundred years old, just a few decades.

“Very impressive. Three drops will suffice to make a human spill his innermost secrets?” Botwell, young for a Slayer’s Watcher, but handsome, smiled at her. Hermione smiled back - it felt good to be appreciated.

“That’s correct. It might even work on some demons who can interbreed with humans, but that hasn’t been tested.” They hadn’t had enough to use for such test, yet. That would change with the amount Hermione was brewing right now.

Botwell whistled. “I can tell that this will help us immensely. To be able to interrogate people quickly and easily will be a boon for the fight against Voldemort.”

Hermione was about to show him her notes when she caught a glare from India that froze her for a moment. She didn’t know what she had done to earn such sudden animosity. Before she could decide how to react though they were interrupted by Uncle Quentin.

“Watcher Fitzburg just called. There has been an attack at Privet Drive, demons it seems.” Her uncle sounded terse, but composed, not a hint of the panic that filled Hermione. Taking him as an example, she steeled herself, and calmly - relatively at least - asked “Is Harry alright?”

Quentin nodded, and relief filled her. “They attacked him when he stepped out of the car, but he drove them off with a spell according to Fitzburg. We’ll be leaving for Little Whinging in a minute, Fitzburg will be coming back and side-apparate us.”

Hermione nodded and followed her great-uncle, grabbing her jacket as she reached the door. She patted her wrist-holster to make sure her borrowed wand was there. Who knew what other dangers threatened Harry. India and Botwell fell in behind her without a word.

*****

They found Harry in his relatives’ house, in the living room, next to the bodies of his aunt and uncle. Their empty eyes stared at the ceiling, but they still breathed. The work of Dementors, Hermione realized. She hugged Harry, and felt him return the hug. “You’re safe.” she whispered, fighting tears of relief.

“Yes, but they… Dudley is upstairs, the same…” Harry sounded like he wanted to cry but couldn’t.

“Dementors?” Her uncle sounded angrier than she had ever seen him.

“Yes, Sir.” Harry stepped back from her, visibly collecting himself as he answered. “Two of them, came straight at me when I stepped out of the car. I drove them away with a Patronus Charm.”

“Dementors on British soil. That’s a flagrant violation of the Treaty of 1692. Whoever is responsible for that crime has forfeited his life.” Quentin took a few deep breaths and then clenched his teeth.

“There were dozens of them around Hogwarts a year ago.” Hermione was confused and concerned.

“Whether Wizard enclaves are British soil is in dispute.” Quentin’s voice left no doubt that he considered them British.

The Slayer was suddenly there, kneeling at the bodies. Hermione hadn’t seen her arrive - John must have gone back for her, and her Watcher. The girl studied the soulless husks, then looked up at her Botwell.

“Can you sense them?” Botwell sounded far different. Gone was the humor and warmth, replaced by cold fury. India nodded, her face not showing any expression. “Hunt them down,” the Watcher ordered, and the Slayer was gone in the blink of an eye, the creaky sound of the back door swinging back and forth the only sign of her passage.

“But… you cannot kill Dementors. Even the Patronus Charm can only drive them away.” Hermione stated, still surprised by how quickly the girl had moved.

“The Slayer can kill any demon. It’s her gift.” Quentin sounded so certain, Hermione wanted to believe him, even though she had been taught differently. She wanted to believe that those monsters, that any monster could be destroyed.

She felt Harry hug her and felt ashamed. He had lost his last relatives, and yet he managed to comfort her. She didn’t want him to stop though.

“They were after you.” Voldemort must have sent them, she realized.

“Yes.” Harry took a deep breath. “If I had been there…”

“It’s not your fault.” She pulled him closer. He couldn’t blame himself. “It’s not your fault!” He didn’t answer her. Didn’t agree with her.

“My grandniece is correct, Mister Potter. This was not your fault. Nevertheless, we need to leave the premises. Whoever sent those monsters after you might strike again. You will be safe in the Council’s house. Its protections have withstood far greater dangers than Dementors.”

Hermione would have offered to take Harry to her family’s home, but she knew her uncle was correct - he’d be safe at headquarters. Then she had a chilling sound. What if those monsters came after her parents, and herself? It was well known that she was one of Harry’s closest friends. Some even believed she was his girl friend. “My family…”

“Will be taken care of, Hermione. We look after our own.”

“I’ll stay at headquarters too. The veritaserum will be soon reaching maturity.” And she wanted to stay with Harry. Her uncle no doubt knew that, but did not comment, he only smiled indulgently.

They collected Harry’s meager possessions from his room and left the house in the Council’s car. Botwell left as well, but didn’t join them - his Slayer was hunting and he would be needed.

*****

Albus Dumbledore frowned at the report he had received from Kingsley. Harry’s home had been attacked, his family kissed by Dementors. Mundungus Fletcher, who had been guarding the house for the Order of the Phoenix that day, had been kissed as well, in the bush he had been hiding in. Harry hadn’t been there - unfortunately. The boy might have been able to deal with the Dementors, and with his relatives gone like that he would not be able to renew the blood protection next year. Although Dumbledore had had his doubts about the effectiveness of those protections after Voldemort had revived himself using Harry’s own blood.

What really irked him was the news that Harry was staying with Miss Granger at an undisclosed location, presumably another house of her family. While it made sense for the girl and her family to move in order to throw off anyone who might come after her, not even the headmaster himself knew her current address - and he needed to check up on Harry, to see how the horrible experience of losing his last family had affected the boy. It would show him if Harry was influenced by the connection to Voldemort. The boy hadn’t displayed violent tendencies so far, according to his Order guards, despite the isolation he had been placed in. That was a good sign. But Tom was cunning, as befitted a Slytherin. The Dark Lord had fooled Dumbledore before, after all, had committed horrible crimes at Hogwarts right under Dumbledore’s nose.

It was frustrating. Harry was crucial for the defeat of Voldemort, but with his scar linking the two together, Dumbledore couldn’t trust the boy, couldn’t be sure that Voldemort would not use the boy’s eyes to spy on him. And now even Miss Granger might be compromised. Dumbledore knew how powerful horcruxes were, how they corrupted what they touched. And Harry was a horcrux, with only Lily’s blood protection keeping the soul shard from possessing the boy. If that was still the case, now that Tom shared Harry’s blood. Miss Granger had apparently been spending a lot of time with the boy, privately. They might even be intimate - it would certainly not be the first time such close contact resulted in a sordid relationship.

The old wizard sighed. He had no choice - he would have to test the boy further, once he was at Sirius’ place, or later at Hogwarts. He had to know just how strong Voldemort’s influence was before he could make further plans to defeat the returned Dark Lord.

Not for the first time he wished someone else could take over, could shoulder the burden of this struggle. He was not getting younger, he knew. He had made quite the number of mistakes in the last few years mistakes he would never have made when he was younger. To miss Barty Crouch Jr. masquerading as one of his oldest living friends, for a year! To see the likes of Fudge and Malfoy outmaneuver him in the Wizengamot! He was losing his touch. And yet he could not trust anyone else with the defeat of Voldemort. Even as old as he had grown, he remained the best, the only choice to oppose Voldemort.

No one knew the Dark Lord as well as he did. Not even Voldemort himself.

*********


	2. First Strike

**Chapter 2: First Strike**

_ India Cohen jumped over a low hedge, into a garden that looked like a mirror image of the one she had just left. She didn’t stop, just ran past the house, which looked like all other houses in this street. Kit might have commented on the extreme uniformity of the neighborhood, had he been with her, but she didn’t notice such things. Not when she was hunting. _

_ She was tracking the demons. Dementors, they were called. Unnatural, evil abominations. Prey. They left no physical tracks, but where they passed, life was diminished. Colder. Weaker. They left a sort of scent a Slayer could follow. _

_ She ran accross the next street, into a garden, past another house, over another hedge. The monsters had not lingered. Had not sought other victims there. She remembered Kit’s lesson - Dementors, for all their appearance, were as corporeal as humans were. And physically weaker. They couldn’t break down doors, nor break through windows. Humans in their houses were safe. Humans outside… were not. _

_ She found the first victim near a local park. A woman, middle-aged, out jogging. India knelt down next to her. The jogger’s face was frozen in terror, her hands and knees dirty. She had tried to flee from something she couldn’t see. The scent was strong here, the grass and bushes still frozen, dead in parts. They had driven her away from the path, into the bushes, where they had taken their time playing with their victim. She had crossed a small clearing a dozen times, until she had not been able to move anymore, and they had swooped in to finish. And then, once they were done, the monsters had stayed until the unnatural cold they were causing had killed the body. Why would they do that? Once they had eaten the soul, the body was of no interest to them anymore, she knew that. Why kill the soulless body?  _

_ They had turned an unnatural coma into death by exposure - possible, if very unlikely, in this season - to hide their presence - no, the presence of their master. Voldemort! She took off again, running faster now. The urge to hunt, to kill, almost overwhelming. She was the Slayer, this was her duty. Her gift. _

_ The scent was far stronger now, the trail far colder. Ice crystals were still gleaming on frozen plants. India took short cuts, through and over bushes. She was gaining, she could now feel their presence, their evil causing her gut to clench. _

_ There! In another clearing she spotted the two monsters. A normal human wouldn’t have seen them. A witch would have seen two floating figures hidden by tattered, ragged cloaks, only missing scythes to look like the Grim Reaper himself. The Slayer just saw prey. _

_ She was on the closest monster before they noticed her, uncaring of the cold emanating from the demons. She wasn’t living through the worst of her memories either - whatever effect they had on humans, it didn’t affect the Slayer. She had been chosen to hunt such things, to kill such abominations. Her first kick drove it back, an axe-kick brought it down, and before it could recover, she had thrown a vial of holy water into what passed for its face. A sizzling noise and the smell of burning rotten flesh told her they were vulnerable to holy water. Kit would be happy to hear this. The demon started to thrash around while she straddled it, but she didn’t even feel the weak blows that connected. Instead she drew her blessed dagger and cut the still smoking head off. Both the head and the body started to disintegrate, but India had already turned towards the other one. _

_ That monster tried to flee. To see the demon thriving on fear afraid itself made her grin. It was now prey. And she was the hunter. The Dementor tried to fly out of reach, but it was far too slow. She was the Slayer. A running jump carried her 3 meters up and she easily caught the edge of its cloak in her fist, stopping the demon from rising further. With glee she drove the dagger into the unnatural thing. The screaming that followed was horrible, nightmarish, but it only served to edge India on. She ripped the dagger out, then pushed it in again, higher this time. More screaming. She grabbed the cloak a bit higher as well, and pulled herself up, stabbing the monster again and again. When she reached the chest it couldn’t fly anymore and started to fall down. _

_ She pushed away before they hit the ground, rolled with the impact on the soft grass and was on her feet again, dagger still in hand, before the Dementor had recovered. Snarling she gripped the hood of the monster, then started to cut its head off, again ignoring the weak arms that tried to hold her back. She’d have to whet the blade again after this, but she decapitated the demon like she had its companion. It started to disintegrate as well, leaving just the cloak, more tattered than it had been before the fight. _

_ Elation filled her. The hunt was over, the enemy killed. Their victims avenged. She collected the cloaks, Kit would love to study them, and started to head back to her Watcher. _

*****

Inside the Council’s headquarters, in a wood-paneled room with a fireplace and heavy, old tables and seats, India Cohen was frowning. That girl was making eyes at her Watcher again! Asking about the Council’s library. Asking to see the Dementor cloaks  _ she _ had gotten. Kit was  _ her  _ Watcher. Hers and hers alone. Besides the girl had a boyfriend already. And she had a family still. She should not butt in on India’s.

The Slayer turned her head to watch Harry Potter. The girl’s boyfriend. Or friend. He was reading a book, or rather, he was acting as if he was reading, but instead was staring at the pages. Probably seeing something else in his mind. His dead relatives, India assumed. He had the look she had seen too often. Survivor’s guilt, Kit called it. For a moment she considered walking over and asking him how he was doing. See how the girl liked someone making moves on her friend. Or boyfriend. But she discarded the idea. She wasn’t good at consoling people. Kit was. She was good at avenging people. Killing demons.

India stood up and dropped the book she hadn’t been reading - a manual of witch hunting, from the 17th century - on the soft seat she had been sitting in, before walking, stalking over to Kit. And the girl. Her Watcher looked up before she had taken a few steps, smiling. He was good at paying attention to her. She smiled back, feeling comforted. The girl, Granger, was surprised at the sudden shift, and then cringed at seeing her so close. Good. India stared at her until Kit put his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter, India? Did you find something else in the notes of Sir Albert Preston?”

India shook her head. “No. It’s about Potter. He has been staring at the same page for a long time now.” She nodded towards Potter, and noted with satisfaction that the girl’s eyes widened, and she held a hand to her mouth, whispering “Merlin, Harry!” so faintly, only India’s ears picked it up. Before anyone could say anything more, Granger had stepped over to Potter, asking how he was doing. India wasn’t sure she had listened to his answer before hugging him.

Kit was smiling at her, nodding subtly. Pleased. India smiled back. He was her Watcher. Hers and hers alone. And she would make sure it stayed that way.

*****

Hedwig picked at the window, interrupting Hermione’s reading. Next to her, Harry stood up and opened the window - thicker than expected, she noticed, armored probably. That had been a very quick trip. The second one today. The poor owl must be exhausted.

“Come in, girl. Did you have a good flight?” Harry smiled when the white owl landed on his arm, and affectionately nipped at his ear and hair. He laughed, briefly, and Hermione felt a pang of regret. She had almost missed his anguish. Just because she had assumed the Dursleys were such evil people, he’d not miss them. Or feel guilty for surviving. She had been stupid. If not for the Slayer, she would have missed it completely.

“Another letter from Sirius?”

“Yes. And one from Dumbledore, I presume. And probably one from Ron.” Harry pulled three letters off his owl’s leg, then fed her some treats and filled a bowl with fresh water. Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to read the letters. Needed to know what they said. But they were Harry’s. It would be unbelievably rude to read them before him. 

Her all-but-glaring at the back of Harry’s head didn’t have any effect. He had read Sirius’  response to the brief note he had sent out this morning right away, but that had been barely longer than his own, which basically just stated that the Dursleys had been kissed by Dementors and he was safe with her. 

Finally Harry picked up the letters. Hermione leaned forward on her seat, eager to listen, but he didn’t read it out loud, just smiled, and she hadn’t the heart to push him. After last night he needed all the comfort he could get. Once again she felt guilty at missing his grief. He blushed even, which confused her - did his godfather really make one of his off-color jokes on such an occasion?

“Sirius wants me to come to him at once. He says he can’t tell me where it is, not in a letter, but it would be the safest place in Britain.” Harry looked at her, a faint smile on his face. He didn’t have to say that he wanted to do exactly that. Hermione suddenly felt jealous of Harry’s godfather, but fought the feeling down. What mattered was that Harry was happy. “He says you should come too.” Hermione thought his smile grew a bit at that, and felt her jealousy fade completely, replaced with a sudden warm feeling. For a moment.

“I can’t. I need to finish brewing veritaserum here.” She wanted to hit herself when she saw his smile vanish, and put her hand on his. “Sirius needs you. I’ll join you as soon as I am done here. And we can visit each other, maybe...” She trailed off, but he was smiling again, if not much. “It’s just a week.”

Harry nodded. Then he read the other letters, handing Ron’s over to her. Unsurprisingly, it was very brief, but it did state their friend’s relief at Harry being safe, and mentioned something about the Chudley Cannons. 

Dumbledore’s letter was far longer, and far more eloquent, but didn’t state that much more. Hermione read it twice, then looked at Harry. “Both Dumbledore and Sirius say you should go to Sirius to be safe. But no one says why, or where that is.”

“Probably a secret. Safer that way. Not that Hedwig would let anyone grab a letter she carries, right, girl?” Hedwig made a barking sound and landed on his shoulder, where she started to groom his head. Hermione giggled at the sight. After a second Harry did as well.

“I’ll join you in a week then.” Hermione thought of the books in the Council’s library. Priceless tomes, some thought lost for centuries. She could spend the week there. It was still a great opportunity. A dream come true she didn’t even knew she had. Just… yesterday, it had been an even better opportunity. She didn’t sigh while Harry wrote back to Sirius, asking for a location to meet him, but she sure felt like it. 

*****

A week later Hermione was again torn. On one hand, she was about to join Harry at Sirius’ safe place - which Harry hadn’t been able to tell her about, or so he claimed. It sounded like a really interesting piece of magic. On the other hand, she had not even scratched the surface of the Council’s library. So much knowledge, of all kinds, for her to discover! And she was about to leave that wonderful place. At least until Christmas. 

But she’d see her best friend again. With her family at a Council safe house, in case whoever murdered the Dursleys wanted to murder the Grangers as well, she was feeling a bit more lonely than usual. Uncle Quentin was very friendly, but he was also very busy organizing the Council’s response to Voldemort, and the Slayer was… scary. She patted the vial hidden in her belt. Veritaserum. She had brewed so much of it, the Council should be well-stocked for years and there was still enough for herself. A vial of it could be very useful. One never knew when one needed to interrogate someone, after all. If she had had access to veritaserum in her second year, she’d not have had to spend weeks as a half-cat in the infirmary.

She also a few books to take with her. Interesting tomes about various demons - and their weaknesses. She wondered why Defense against the Dark Arts didn’t cover those threats. Even their lessons about vampires had been woefully inadequate, compared to the throve of knowledge the Council had. Werewolves and their weaknesses was the only subject that had been covered sufficiently at Hogwarts, in her revised opinion, and that had been Snape undermining Professor Lupin.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “Are you ready, Hermione?” Uncle Quentin asked. She looked at her trunk, packed last evening, and checked her shelves and sideboard before opening the door.

“Yes, Uncle Quentin.” She smiled at him.

He smiled back, then grew serious and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve told you before, but I’ll repeat it: Be careful. Mister Potter has numerous and powerful enemies. They will want to strike at him through you, as they did before. Be on your guard, and trust no one from the Ministry for Magic. And don’t let anyone see your other wand.”

Hermione nodded. She knew her uncle was correct - the Daily Prophet continued its smear-campaign against her best friend. It didn’t take a genius to realize the Ministry was behind those lies. They hadn’t targeted herself, so far, but she remembered the articles that all but called her a gold-digging, potion using mudblood a few months ago. “I will be very careful, trust me.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “And if the opportunity presents itself… see what you can find out about the Death Eaters. You know how to reach us.”

Hermione met his eyes. She had studied the codes and learned the spells to hide information in a normal-looking letter. Just in case. 

“Good. I wish you could stay, but I understand that your friend needs you more than I do. And I am sure he’ll be much better company for a pretty young woman like you.” He chuckled a bit, and Hermione blushed. She wanted to say that Harry was just her friend, nothing more, but didn’t. It might not be true, after all. Or so she hoped.

*****

Hermione gaped. She couldn’t help it - seeing an entire house appear out of nowhere, seemingly to push two other houses out of the way, just because she had read a scrap of parchment filled her with awe of magic like the day she had seen Professor McGonagall transfigure her family’s dining table into a pony. “Wow… what kind of spell did that?” She turned her head to Professor Lupin, who had fetched her from her bus stop.

The scarred man smiled, indulgently, as if he still was her DADA teacher. “The Fidelius Charm. It hides a secret or location, and only the secret keeper can share it.” Hermione could imagine a dozen uses for such a charm, and then and there, swore to learn it. Her face must have shown her thoughts, since the werewolf laughed, patted her back, and told her “It takes a wizard of Dumbledore’s stature to cast it, Hermione.”

“Ah.” Hermione didn’t know why, but she felt peeved at the remark, no matter how well-meaning. Her pride was stung. Her resolve to learn the spell doubled, even though she seemed to agree with Lupin. Walking up to the door of the house, she noticed the state it was in - it was in dire need of maintenance, if not repair. She hoped it was just a disguise, and not an indication of what the interior looked like. 

Lupin touched the door with his wand, and it opened by itself. He waved at it, letting Hermione enter first. “Welcome to No. 12 Grimmauld Place, the home of the Black Family.” The young witch stepped inside, into a dark and dusty entrance hall, with decor that looked out of date even for a Wizarding household. Before she could comment on it though she spotted Harry on top of the stairs to her right, and Hermione forgot all about the house.

“Harry!” She was about to run up the stairs, then reconsidered and walked at a more sedate pace. She was no child anymore, she reasoned, though she still beamed at her best friend, and hugged him with abandon when they met in the middle of the stairs. 

“Ha…” Whatever she wanted to say, or he was about to say, was interrupted by a screeching harpy of a portrait, cursing everyone present in the foulest language she had heard in a while. Lupin struggled to close the curtains and hide the portrait while the two of them left the hall.

The racket made talking difficult for a bit longer, before it finally stopped. “What was that?” Hermione asked. “I haven’t heard such filthy language since the twins got Draco with their reverse head prank in our third year.”

Harry winced. “That was Sirius’s mother. She is a blood bigot, and curses at everyone who is not a Death Eater recruit. Her portrait is protected so one can’t get rid of it easily, Sirius said.”

“They should brick her up then.” Hermione stated.

Harry grinned. “Sirius might just try that. Here’s your room.” He opened the door to an old-fashioned but clean room with a canopy bed - like Hermione’s bed at Hogwarts. The young witch dragged her trunk inside. It was lightened with magic, of course, thanks to her borrowed wand lacking the trace, which was why she hadn’t let Lupin carry it for her.

“Spent a day cleaning it, with Sirius.” Harry grinned. “It was an adventure of sorts - we had to fight of a small infestation of doxies.” Hermione quickly looked him over. Doxies were poisonous, and could leave nasty bite wounds. He held up his hands, as if to fend her off. “I am fine, Hermione. Sirius took care of them with a few spells, no one even came near me.” Hermione wasn’t convinced he was telling the entire truth, but let it slide and sat down on the bed.

“Has it just been you and Sirius?” The mattress was soft, maybe a bit too soft for her taste, but she didn’t complain. Harry seemed to have spent quite some time and effort to prepare her room.

“Us two, and Remus. But Dumbledore visits often, as does a cousin of Sirius, Tonks. She’s an auror.”

“Tonks?” Hermione thought that was quite the weird name, even for a witch.

“Nymphadora Tonks, but she doesn’t let anyone call her by her first name. She hates it.” Harry spread his hands and grinned. “If you do it anyway, she will make you regret it.”

Hermione shrugged. She’d rather be called “Nymphadora” than “Tonks”, but it wasn’t her decision to make. “What did you do apart from cleaning?”

“Not that much, actually. The house has been left alone for a decade or so, and attracted all sorts of pests and curses. Cleaning a room is like a special lesson with Moody, keeps you on your guard.”

“Did you use your wand?” Hermione didn’t have to say which wand she meant.

“I didn’t, so far.” Harry’s grin lost a bit of its mirth. He might be unhappy at keeping secrets from his godfather, Hermione thought. “But we’ve been clearing the library. It should be safe to enter now.”

“The library?” Hermione perked up. They had a library here?

“The Black Family Library. Choke-full of old books, many of them banned in Britain. Sirius said...” Harry was interrupted when Hermione gripped his arm. A family library! With banned books! She smiled at him, eyes wide open. “I can show it to you?” 

Hermione dragged him out of the room and was halfway down the hallway before she remembered that Harry knew where it was, and had to lead her.

*****

Quentin Travers watched his grandniece enter the cab he had called for her, then turned to the young Watcher that was waiting in his office. “What did you find out about the scar?”

Fitzburg straightened his posture. “It’s no ordinary curse scar. The wards wouldn’t have detected it if it was just some lingering dark magic.”

“Possession?” Quentin sounded calm and in control, as if he wasn’t aware of the consequences should this be true.

“From what we could tell when we checked the boy after the attack on his relatives, it looks like the remnant of a failed possession.” Fitzburg looked grim. “Though judging by the strength of the lingering imprints, it was a recent attempt.”

Quentin sat down at his desk, steepling his fingers. “Do you think it was the result of the incident three years ago, after that teacher was killed?”

The young wizard hesitated just a second, enough for Quentin to realize he was speculating. “It would fit the circumstances and results we saw.”

The Senior Watcher nodded. “Look into preparing an exorcism ritual. Just in case. A failed possession that has effects which linger for years is nothing to take lightly.”

Fitzburg nodded. “I will confer with our specialists, Sir.”

Quentin watched him leave, then leaned back in his seat. It would be regrettable if nothing could be done about Mister Potter’s condition. His grandniece was evidently fond of the boy, and he would make a great asset to the Council, judging by the reports of his training so far. Quick at learning and thinking on his feet, great potential and loyalty. But if push came to shove, the needs of humanity outweighed the needs of a boy - or a boy and a girl. Even if she was family.

*****

Sirius was acting in quite an immature manner, Hermione thought. Or rather, she wasn’t sure if it was an act. She was sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and watching the two “men of the house” have a butterbeer drinking contest. They had asked her to participate, but she had politely declined. And glared at Sirius in a manner that made it clear that if she suddenly found herself belching as if she had drunk three bottles, there would be consequences. The wizard had acknowledged that, behind Harry’s back while his godson had pouted at her. The two had an understanding. Both wanted the best for Harry, and both understood - or so Hermione hoped - that he needed them both. Even if Sirius might be pushing the “girlfriend jokes” a bit strongly. Not that she minded them, that much. Harry’s flustered reaction always raised her own hopes.

The three of them had cleaned a few more rooms, and Harry had been right - it had been an adventure. The kind of adventure that was likely to leave one battered and bruised, and talked about in the Gryffindor Common Room. Very educational though - she had learned more about curses and magical pests in a few days here than in a term at Hogwarts. Sirius had been delighted when they had told him about their second wands. The man considered it a prank on the Ministry, which had left him to rot in prison without a trial, and promised not to tell anyone else. And he had given her access to his library as well. It was a bribe, she knew, but a very nice bribe.

Sadly, things outside Grimmauld Place were not going as well. The Ministry, as Sirius’s cousin Tonks had informed them, was investigating the attack on the Dursleys, and was blaming Harry despite the manner of their deaths being absolutely clear and there not being any trace of underage magic. The Daily Prophet was speculating about some dark spell Harry had used on his relatives in a fit of anger at his lies being exposed. She hadn’t been able to read the article without having to vent her anger on some hapless cursed cabinet, reducing the thing to splinters. At least the display of destructive magic had impressed the deranged house elf of the Blacks enough to stop harassing her, though being compared to “Mistress Bella” wasn’t that much of an improvement.

Dumbledore certainly hadn’t found it as amusing as Sirius had, when Harry’s godfather had told him the story during one of the Headmaster’s frequent visits. The way he had looked at her, all full of concern and sadness… Hermione still didn’t know why it seemed the Headmaster was more concerned with Harry’s reaction to the death of his horrid relatives than with the question of who had sent those demons after Harry. He certainly hadn’t shown such concern in the past, not after Harry had burned Quirrell to death, or after seeing Cedric Diggory die. She had checked with Harry to make sure of that, of course. The Headmaster had his reasons, the young witch was sure of that. She just wasn’t sure anymore that he had good reasons for his actions. 

At least he had been friendly and jovial when he had left earlier, even though his announcement that the Weasleys would be moving in for the last two weeks, for security reasons, and to keep them company, had left Hermione with mixed feelings. She liked the Weasleys, but they were… loud. And Sirius had nothing on the twins when it came to pranking. And Ron would be trying to monopolize Harry’s time, and Ginny might make cow eyes at her best friend, and… Hermione sighed. She had to be honest with herself, she liked it when it was just her, Harry, Sirius and Lupin. And occasional visits by Tonks.

*****

“What?” Mrs Weasley sounded so surprised, Harry had to fight the sudden urge to laugh out loud at her expression.

“I said Harry and I will not be cleaning, Mrs Weasley. We helped clean the rooms your family is now occupying, and that was more than enough.” Hermione sounded like she was a few more frowns away from openly rolling her eyes, or worse.

“Nonsense, dear. I’ve never seen a house as much in need of a thorough cleaning as this one. We need everyone to help with that.” Mrs Weasley had overcome her shock at being contradicted, and was gathering steam.

“Neither Harry nor I are allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts. We would have to waste hours doing what a single cleaning spell could achieve.” Hermione closed her books and her eyes narrowed. Harry had the sudden image of two ships on a collision course.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s not good for young people to sit idle.” Mrs Weasley had lost what jovial smile she had had left.

“Idle? We’re not sitting idle, we’re studying! That’s far more important than some menial child labor!” Harry moved just a bit to the side when his best friend stood up. He noticed that Ginny, Ron and the twins were staring at the spectacle with the same expression of fascinated horror.

“Dear, we’re guests here, and it would be very rude not to help Sirius with setting his house in order. What would your parents say about you refusing to help out?” Harry winced. That had been a mistake.

“My parents are in hiding because someone sent Dementors after Harry’s muggle relatives, and they could be the next targets.” Hermione stated in a clipped voice brimming with anger. “They do not want me te to waste my time doing pointless, stupid menial work instead of studying magic.” 

Mrs Weasley gaped at the girl. Obviously it had been a long time since she had been spoken to like this. Her children were staring at Hermione as if she had grown one meter, and a second head. “This… this is an outrage!”

“Yes, it is an outrage that you seem to think you can order us around as if we were your children, and in your house! Neither is the case.” Hermione was on a roll. “First you try to to tell us to share a room with Ron and Ginny, even though we spent a lot of time cleaning enough rooms for your whole family to use, then you try to steal my books, and now you want to force me to waste my time cleaning without magic?”

“A girl your age shouldn’t be reading those kind of books.” Harry gasped. Those were fighting words for Hermione. He hurried to grab her hand to distract her while speaking up in an attempt to defuse the situation before the two witches started hexing each other. 

“Mrs Weasley, please. Cleaning without a wand reminds me… I mean… I cleaned my home like that…” He trailed off and looked away, hopefully it would seem as if he was overcome with emotion, and not avoiding to lie into her face. 

Mrs Weasley gasped, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “Merlin, Harry! Please forgive me, I wasn’t thinking!”

Harry nodded at her while she ushered her children, who looked shell-shocked, out of the room. He glanced at Hermione as soon as the door had closed. She was staring at him, and biting her lip. “Harry…” He interrupted her with a chuckle and saw her eyes widen when she realized what he had done. 

“Oh, you!”

Harry’s grin just grew wider. Sirius and his father would have been proud of him, he was sure of that. Then he realized that he hadn’t let go of her yet. 

The two stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch into a minute, or so Harry felt. He licked his suddenly dry lips while Hermione bit her lips. When he started to let go she gripped his hand. “Thank you. I was about to lose my temper.” She smiled at him, and Harry felt both pleased and disappointed. 

With a sudden grin he raised her hand to his lips. “Your obedient servant, Miss Granger.” He kept smiling when she made a surprised sound and released her hand. She was staring at him, then narrowed her eyes and huffed. But she was smiling when both sat down to read. Sirius had been right, Harry thought.

*****

Knockturn Alley was not the worst alley India had ever been in, but it certainly was among the worst. Filthy, dark and filled with monsters both human and inhuman. The Slayer was standing in a side alley, watching the entrance to the “Drunken Doxy”, a bar doubling as a brothel for the worst of the magical world. She longed to kick the door open and start slaying the scum inside, but she had her orders. The Council didn’t want to let the Wizards know that the Slayer was on the prowl. Not yet. 

The Council knew the names of the Death Eaters, but their houses were hidden and protected by wards powered with dark magic and worse. They couldn’t get to them, not yet. They had to catch them when they were out. But most of the Death Eaters were respected in Wizarding Britain, traveling in the highest circles, with aurors, wizard police, ready to defend them should they be attacked. It was sickening, in India’s opinion.

But other Death Eaters were not as respected. They frequented the darker corners of Wizarding Britain, where no aurors went to patrol. They had protections there as well, but those were weaker. Aurors would call in reinforcements quickly when faced with trouble. People in Knockturn Alley had to worry about passersby using an attack to stab them in the back.

She was here for Amycus Carrow, a Death Eater veteran of the first Blood War. The wizard was a sadist according to the Council’s information, and a frequent customer of the brothel. India was to capture him, so he could be interrogated. There were other possible targets, but he was the likeliest.

A scraping sound - too faint for anyone but the Slayer to pick up - warned her of someone approaching from behind her. The churning feeling in her stomach told her it was a monster. She did not react and instead acted as if she was unaware, luring the monster closer. When it was close enough she whirled around. 

A cloaked woman, no a hag, was hissing in surprise. Before it could say anything India was on her. A fist to the monster’s throat left it choking on a crushed larynx, unable to scream. India was tempted to take her time now, draw it out a bit, let the hag try to breathe through a crushed throat while fighting her, but she had a mission. She ducked under a clumsy swing and swept the hags’ feet out from under her, then kicked it into the wall before grabbing the wheezing monster’s head. The hag tried to claw at her face, at her hands, but she broke its neck with a swift motion before it managed to connect, then pushed the corpse further into the side alley and resumed her post.

Hours later she finally caught sight of her prey as the wizard was leaving the brothel. There wasn’t a floo there, no client of that brothel wanted to risk their travel to being monitored, and apparition would be warded against. India would have to act fast before he apparated away, but she was the Slayer, quick enough to reach him and subdue him before he spotted her.

She would have done so, if not for his companion, a brute of a man. Fenrir Greyback - she recognized his face. It wasn’t the full moon, but even in human form that monster had superior senses, and smelled or saw her right when she was leaving the side alley. The werewolf was fast, especially for his bulk, but India was faster. She cartwheeled over his attempted tackle and landed in front of Carrow, who was drawing his wand. She drove her fist into his gut, then kicked him in the face, throwing him against the brothel’s wall, unconscious or even dead, while propelling herself back and over Fenrir’s next strike, landing in a crouch. 

For a moment Slayer and Werewolf stared at each other, both snarling. “You don’t smell like a wolf. Yet you move like one. What are you?” The monster sounded confused. He was not using his wand - as expected. Greyback prefered to fight hand to hand when possible according to her knowledge. 

India didn’t bother to answer, she was already moving. Faking a charge, she jumped to the side when he moved to meet her and ran up the wall, before pushing off into a flying jump kick that hit Greyback in the chest and drove him into the ground. Roaring, he tried to get up, but India was faster, circling around him and driving her right foot into his knee, shattering it.

Even crippled Greyback was still fighting, lashing out with hands that looked like claws, and screaming with pain and rage, tearing his robes in his frantic attempts to grab her. It was no use. She danced out of his reach, then around him while he tried to turn with his broken knee, darting inside his reach to hit him in the stomach, then in his kidneys. He connected with a haymaker in return that glanced off her upper arm and shoulder. It would bruise, but she was too caught up in the fighting, the slaying, to feel pain. Grinning as ferally as her enemy, she smashed her fists into his head, then grabbed his filthy, greasy hair and drove his face into the cobblestones, shattering his teeth and nose.

He was beaten, he knew it, she knew it, but he was not giving up. He was still roaring, clawing at her when she slipped a silver dagger out of her sleeve and into his throat. Kit might admonish her for not using it sooner, she thought, but it might have made the werewolf go for his wand if she had done that. At least that would be her excuse.

While the werewolf was staring at her, his life fading from his feral eyes while he was gripping his bleeding throat with both hands, India stepped over to Carrow. She grabbed the Wizard, threw him over her shoulders, and ran into the side alley she had come out of. A portkey activation phrase later she had left the alley with her prisoner.

*****

Dumbledore was feeling cautiously optimistic a few days before September 1st. Harry had shown no taint from Voldemort - or, to be precise, he had shown no signs of being influenced by the soul shard in his scar. He was not as sad about the loss of his family as a boy should be, but that was, sadly, not entirely unexpected, given his family’s unfortunate attitude towards magic. Miss Granger had shown quite the temper, and had been very rude to Molly, as he had been told loudly and at length, but again, girls on the cusp of womanhood often were moody and temperamental. 

And the books she was reading… They weren’t dark, or cursed, but that a young witch would want to read about demons, that her family would spend so much gold on such books… He shook his head at such foolishness. She would have done better to spend the gold on more useful books. But he would have to keep an eye on her, should she ever manage to get a book on summoning demons. It was unlikely, such tomes had been destroyed wherever they were found, but foolish wizards might have kept them in their private libraries. At least Sirius had assured him that not even his family would have dabbled in demon summoning.

Such matters aside, he could now ask Severus to teach Harry Occlumency without fearing to tip off Voldemort. Miss Granger too, the boy was likely to confide in her. He wished to teach Harry himself, but… he glanced at the note on his desk. After Albus’s chosen teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts had been arrested for smuggling muggle contraband - a trumped up charge if he had ever seen one - Cornelius had released an educational decree that allowed him to appoint his undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, as a replacement teacher. An unfortunate development, but more an annoyance than a real problem. It wasn’t as if she would be the first useless Defense teacher, and she’d likely spend her time spying on himself. He smirked. A few ruses should have her chase her own shadow.

A looked at another report from Kingsley. Fenrir Greyback had been killed by another werewolf. Amycus Carrow had been kidnapped. That was worrying. Albus had known Greyback, had had the man’s measure. If his pack was now led by an unknown werewolf, that would complicate matters. Though it was an opportunity as well. Remus might have a chance to convince her to stay away from Voldemort. Maybe even connect to her - he was a fine man, after all, and had been single for too long.

*****

Lucius Malfoy stood at his master’s side, looking at the visitor - his guest, he mused, since they were in the Malfoy Manor, even if sometimes it felt more like his Master’s - without appearing to stare. She, for the visitor was female, was a sight to behold. Pale skin, pitch black hair, a lithe figure clad in leather clothes even the muggle animals might find indecent. She was the rarest and most dangerous kind of vampires - a turned witch. She could shield against spells that would burn a vampire to ashes and cast far faster than most wizards. Lucius counted himself as among the most dangerous wizards in Britain, after the Dark Lord, of course, but even he would rather not face that vampire. When she winked at him and let a blood red tongue run over her lips, it took most of his self-control not to react.

The Dark Lord’s voice interrupted what games their guest was about to play. “You’ve said you have information for me, Roselyn.”

Lucius noted with satisfaction and some relief that even a centuries-old vampire like Roselyn was afraid of his Master, who had overcome death itself.

“Indeed my Lord, I have important information about your enemies.”

******* **


	3. Trouble at Hogwarts

**Chapter 3: Trouble at Hogwarts**

Quentin Travers looked at the the wizard strapped to a chair in front of him. Amycus Carrow was glaring at him, but gagged and bound and in a warded room without his wand, the Death Eater couldn’t do anything else. Even so the Slayer was standing at the prisoner’s side, ready to intervene. One didn’t grow to Quentin’s age as a Watcher by taking unnecessary risks. Her Watcher was waiting on the other side, with the recording and interrogation equipment.

“Administer the serum.”

The Slayer had the prisoner’s head pulled back before Botwell, carrying a vial, had taken one step towards the captive. The Watcher pulled the plug out of the gag, leaving the ring gag holding Carrow’s mouth open. The wizard started to scream incoherently, but all present ignored it, and once Botwell had poured three drops on the wizard’s tongue, the noise stopped. Botwell checked Carrow’s pupils, then nodded. “The serum has taken effect, Sir.”

“Remove the gag.” Quentin watched the younger man obey, dropping the drool-covered contraption on a tray, then focused on their captive.

“Are you Amycus Carrow?”

“Yes.” The wizard spoke with a toneless voice and his eyes didn’t focus on Quentin.

“Are you a follower of Voldemort?”

“Yes.”

“Is your sister a follower of Voldemort as well?”

“Yes.”

“Have you murdered any muggles?” Quentin hated using that distasteful name for normal humans, but one had to use words those wizards understood when interrogating them.

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to murder more muggles?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any specific plans yet?”

“No.”

“Do you know where Voldemort is living?”

“No.”

Botwell readministered veritaserum twice during the interrogation, which took hours, but while Quentin managed to confirm a number of the Death Eater identities Harry Potter had revealed to the Council, the captive didn’t know where they lived - he only visited them by floo or apparition. It took dozens of questions just to find out where Carrow’s own house was located - the man had no idea about geography. He did remember his crimes though. In detail.

“Gag him again!" Quentin ordered with a cold voice. “Call me once he has recovered his wits. I want him to be fully aware when I inform him of his sentence. And when it is carried out.”

Quentin left the cell. It was a pity burning the wizard was too much of a bother, given their location and circumstances. Carrow certainly had earned such a death. A slow hanging would have to do.

*****

Molly Weasley was not a happy witch. Getting her children ready so they would make it to the Hogwarts Express in time was always a stressful ordeal. Doubly so in those trying times when she had to worry about Death Eaters preparing an ambush. That her family was currently not at the Burrow, but had spent the last weeks at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, wasn’t helping either. That house was full of dark items, curses, magical pests and who knows what else that family, or their deranged house elf, had collected over the years. Keeping her children, who were too curious for their own good, especially the twins, from getting into dangerous trouble in such a place had been a trying task for her.

Her original plan to keep the children busy with cleaning and other chores under adult supervision had been wrecked when Harry and Hermione had refused to clean, setting a bad example for her own children. They had been unbelievably rude! She had still tried to keep her children cleaning but after a few disastrous days she had had to abandon that. The resistance from everyone had just been too much.

Ron and Ginny, at least, had then been kept busy for a few days doing their homework, with the help of Hermione, but the twins… she had had no choice but to let Sirius fill their heads with tales from the Marauders’ ‘glory days’ at Hogwarts, to keep them from exploring the rest of the house before Dumbledore had sealed the most dangerous rooms. And that, of course, had meant she had been kept even busier afterwards, dealing with all the new prank ideas her twin terrors had been trying out on unsuspecting visitors and family members.

She still worried about those books Hermione and Harry were reading. Dumbledore had assured her they were safe, but... children should not read such disgusting books! Adults dealt with that. Aurors. No one else needed to know about that. Fortunately, she had found a collection of Quidditch journals from the 18th century in the library for Ron, which had kept him from mischief.

But now September 1st had arrived, and the children would soon be off to Hogwarts, where they would be safe - relatively safe - and she would be able to relax some. She glanced at the kitchen table, where Harry and Hermione were sitting, trunks next to them, and smiled. If only her own children were as punctual. Ginny arrived, dragging her trunk behind her, probably scratching up the floor, but at the moment Molly didn’t care. They were running out of time if Arthur was insisting on using the car to travel, instead of the floo.

“Ron! Fred! George! Hurry up, we need to go now!” she bellowed, then acted as if she had not noticed the three children in the kitchen grinning.

*****

The train ride to Hogwarts was different, Hermione noted. A sizeable number of the students were eyeing Harry as if he was as crazy as the Daily Prophet claimed he was whenever they saw him. At least they had some peace in their compartment, sitting with Ron, Ginny and her friend, Luna Lovegood. Luna was reading her father’s magizoology magazine, the Quibbler, upside down. The blonde Ravenclaw apparently believed in all her father’s articles. Given how untrustworthy the Daily Prophet had been proven to be, and how lacking Hogwarts’ library was when it came to demons, Hermione was not inclined to dismiss Luna’s claims out of hand. Besides, it was funny to watch Ginny’s reaction to Luna and herself discussing mythical monsters.

“I still cannot believe you refused the prefect position, Hermione.” Ron’s voice interrupted their discussion of the feeding habits of D’zrker Demons. Hermione suppressed her annoyance at the interruption and turned her attention towards him. He sounded almost angry, though she didn’t understand why. He was a prefect, after all, together with Lavender Brown. Their friend had been talking about her to Harry ever since he had returned from the prefect’s meeting earlier.

“Spending so much time enforcing rules would have negative consequences for my grades,” she answered primly. In truth, spending her nights patrolling after curfew, herding students to class and back, and confiscating items Filch had banned seemed too petty, too meaningless for her, after she had found out about the Council’s mission. How could she contemplate wasting her free time preventing pranks when others were risking their lives fighting demons?

“Does that mean you’ll not be hounding us to do our homework this year?” Ron’s expression looked like he couldn’t decide if this was a good or bad thing.

“You wish.” She smirked at him, which seemed to please him. She exchanged a puzzled look with Harry, who shrugged subtly.

The door to their compartment was pushed open at that moment, revealing Malfoy and his two ‘friends’ Crabbe and Goyle. “Two Weasels, a loon and a mudblood. Fitting company for a deranged lunatic. Is it true you killed your family in a fit of anger?” The blonde boy sneered.

In an instant, Harry and Ron had jumped up and glared at him. Hermione had remained sitting, but had drawn her wand behind her book. The witch felt like hexing the bigot, but held back. He would run to Snape and that miserable excuse for a teacher would punish them all, no matter what lines his pet bigot had crossed when he taunted Harry with the death of his relatives.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry was trembling with rage and stepped up to Malfoy, staring into his eyes. He lowered his voice, almost whispering, but it carried through the compartment. “I found my relatives with their souls sucked out of them. Tortured to death in their home by inhuman fiends. I do not have any tolerance left for an evil little asshole like you. Get the fuck out or not even your pet teacher will be able to protect you!”

In the face of Harry’s fury, Malfoy had staggered back, probably without realizing it. He went paler than Hermione had thought possible, and was trembling with fear. “P-Potter! I-I’ll not tolerate s-such t-threats! M-my father will hear of this!” he stammered before turning and walking away.

Hermione stood up and closed the door, then hugged Harry, who was still staring at the door. They remained like that for a moment, until she felt him relax some.

“Blimey, Harry! You scared him off.” Ron sounded incredulous. “He’ll be running right to Snape, I bet.”

“Let him. I don’t care about either anymore,” Harry stated, then sat down with Hermione. She kept a hand on his shoulder. Knowing that whatever happened, they had a place in the Watchers Council, had been a big change. No longer was Hogwarts the only place Harry could call home, no longer was Wizarding Britain the only future open to him. Or to her.

*****

“So, Potter. Threatening prefects now, are we? Not even your father was as arrogant as you are.” Snape was his usual nasty self, but Harry was not as impressed as he would have been last year. He had seen Cedric Diggory die, had been tortured by Voldemort, had discovered his relatives’ soulless husks. Getting bullied by this pitiful excuse for a teacher felt almost familiar to Harry. And the knowledge that he could leave if things went too far, could turn his back on Hogwarts without turning his back on magic, helped a lot to keep his temper. “20 points from Gryffindor.”

Harry blinked - he had expected a detention as well. Malfoy, standing behind his Head of House, was surprised as well. He was tempted to ask if that was all, but held his tongue. He knew from years of experience that Snape was just waiting for any hint of protest, and not offering any would irk him more than any amount of words. Snape stared, but Harry simply waited.

“Get out of my sight!” the teacher snarled, then turned away, robes billowing with the movement. Harry stared at Malfoy, who hurried after his protector.

“Things never change here, do they?” Hermione sounded resigned rather than exasperated.

Harry nodded. Hermione changed the topic. “I wonder who will be our new defense teacher. maybe Dumbledore found a good one this year.”

“We can only hope.”

*****

As it turned out, their new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts was Dolores Umbridge. Former - or current, Harry wasn’t exactly certain - undersecretary of the Minister for Magic. She hadn’t impressed him much, at the feast, but he was determined not to judge a book by its cover. Even if she had been glaring at him several times during the evening.

“Good morning, class. I am Dolores Umbridge, your new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. As I have found out my predecessors have been very lax in theory, so we will be focusing on theory this year, to make up for that. The book I have chosen to base my lessons on is an excellent, Ministry-approved resource and will serve you well in my class.” She looked around, a fake smile on her face, then stared at Harry. “I will not tolerate unrest in my class, nor the spreading of rumors and lies to frighten students.” Harry stared back at her until she looked away.

“Does everyone have the book in front of them?” The pink-clad witch asked in a shrill voice. “Start reading the first chapter then. There will be a test on it next week.”

Harry saw Hermione raising her hand. The teacher seemed to ignore her until she spoke up. “Professor Umbridge?”

“Yes dear?” The witch was smiling, but for an instant, Harry saw an expression of distaste flash over her face.

“I’ve read the book over the summer,” Hermione stated. Harry knew she was fudging the truth a bit - she had read the book a day after they had bought it, a week before school started. After their prior booklist had been invalidated by a new teacher, or so the letters informing them of the change had explained. “It does not contain any information about the spells we should be learning this year.” A fact she had complained loudly about at the time she had read the book. Harry hadn’t bothered reading it, not after her summary. Useless drivel. “Which spells should we be practising?”

“Dear, I am here to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts. The best defense is to trust in the Ministry. Our Aurors will protect you from any danger, not that there is anything to fear.” The woman’s patronizing tone was obvious to everyone.

“Surely you can’t mean that we will not be learning any spells!” The idea was ridiculous, Harry knew, and he spoke before he could restrain himself.

“Mister Potter, I have no tolerance for delusional liars.”

Harry was about to call her a delusional fool, but kept his temper, barely. The witch obviously had it out for him, otherwise her insult wouldn’t make any sense. At least several other students were now raising their hands. Voldemort returning was one thing, but the prospect of not learning the spells needed for their OWLs? That drove fear into his classmates.

“Professor, what about our OWLs?”

“Is this History of Defense, or do we learn spells?”

“Are we learning muggle defense?”

“Silence!” The pink witch was shouting, her face red. cowed, the students felt silent. Then Umbridge turned to Harry. “Mister Potter! I stated I would not tolerate unrest in class. You are responsible for this shameful behaviour! Detention tomorrow evening!”

Harry was not the only gaping at the witch. She was worse than Snape!

*****

Professor Umbridge was waiting for Harry with an eager gleam in her eyes when he arrived for his detention. “Ah, Mister Potter. Almost late, I see. I would not expect anything else from such a habitual liar.”

“Good evening Professor,” Harry spit out, already straining to keep a lid on his temper. The ugly witch was very skilled at pushing his buttons. He managed to control himself, mostly because he had promised Hermione he’d do it. McGonagall had warned him that Umbridge was dangerous, but he hadn’t taken that warning very seriously. He had faced Voldemort, after all, far more times than he wanted to think about. A fat witch in hideously ugly pink robes simply didn’t rate that much in his opinion.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, Umbridge smiling, Harry frowning. “Hand over your wand, Mister Potter. There will be no spellcasting during your detention.” He handed his official wand over, glad for Hermione having insisted he’d carry his untraceable wand with him as well, hidden in a mokeskin holster mounted on his left wrist. He just did not feel safe in this witch’s presence without a wand.

“Sit down, boy. You will write lines.” She tapped at the blackboard, where she had written ‘I will not tell lies’ on. “A thousand times this. Maybe that will teach you to keep your filthy mouth from sprouting lies!”

Harry imagined the toad-like witch screaming under Voldemort’s Crucio while he sat down. That would teach her to ignore reality and call him a liar. When he opened his bookbag though she stopped him. “You will be using this quill.” She handed him a long, ornate quill and well as a stack of parchment.

Shrugging he started to look for an inkwell, but she stopped him again. “The quill will produce its own ink, Mister Potter. Now start writing.”

Glancing at her, he was taken aback. She was smiling at him with an almost crazed expression, filled with glee. Worse than Snape when he managed to actually catch him breaking a rule. Maybe McGonagall had been correct.

He started to write the first line, but stopped right after the first words when he felt a sudden pain in his hand and saw red lines appear on the back of his hand. With a gasp he realized that the quill was carving the lines he wrote into his skin, drawing blood!

“Don’t stop, boy. You’ve got a thousand lines to write.”

“With my blood?” he asked, rubbing his hand, which placed his fingers close to his wrist-holster with his borrowed wand.

“It’ll teach you to stop lying.” Umbridge bared her teeth in a cruel smile.

The witch was a sadist, Harry realized. Or worse - the things one could do with one’s blood, the things an enemy could do with his blood… the tomes Hermione and himself had read in the Council’s library had been quite explicit how dangerous it was to let anyone get ahold of one’s blood. Hermione would understand, he thought, while he drew his second wand.

He whipped up his wand faster and cast before the witch realized what he was doing. “Expelliarmus!” The force of the spell, powered by his own rage, ripped her wand out of her hand and threw her into the wall behind her with a sickening crack. He didn’t care about what bones he had just broken and both stunned and bound her with two more spells, then went to fetch Hermione.

*****

Hermione was livid. Not at Harry, of course - not after he had explained why he had hurt and bound a teacher. To think a professor could sink so low as to torture a student and steal his blood… she shook her head. Both of them were on their way to McGonagall’s office, Umbridge, still unconscious and bound and wrapped in Harry’s cloak of invisibility, floating behind them. They’d have gone straight to Dumbledore, if they had known the password to his office.

McGonagall was in her office, busy grading homework already, when the two students entered. “Miss Granger... Mister Potter! Is your detention already over?” She asked, in a surprised tone.

“Yes, Professor. We need to talk to the Headmaster about Umbridge.”

“That’s Professor Umbridge, Mister Potter. And the Headmaster is busy.” McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “What have you done? I told you be careful around Professor Umbridge!”

Hermione was taken aback at the correction, and at the anger from her Head of House, and her own temper rose. The Transfiguration teacher had been very disappointed when Hermione had refused the prefect’s position, and had let her know that both with a letter during the vacations, and in person last evening. The young muggleborn witch had not been impressed though, and was less impressed now. What was the professor thinking, talking to her best friend like that, when they had such a sadist as a professor? That horrid witch had been planning to torture her Harry, after all, and steal his blood for whatever dark ritual she was planning - Hermione could think of a few that would need his blood!

She noticed Harry growing angry, and before he could give McGonagall a piece of his mind, she laid her hand on his shoulder to stop him. Their eyes met, and he nodded. While he took a few deep breaths to control his temper, she addressed their teacher with a cold, clipped tone: “Professor McGonagall. If the Headmaster is not available to see us at once, then Harry and I will leave the school immediately. This concerns a grave crime, not some petty complaint.” The young witch placed her hands on the old witch’s desk and stared right at her, chin pushed forward.

McGonagall was gasping at the audacity of her best student, but again Hermione was not impressed. She knew she was right and would not budge, not even an inch. Harry depended on her.

“Miss Granger! What are you saying?”

“I am stating that if you are not leading us to and into the Headmaster’s office right now, Harry and I will be quitting Hogwarts right now. Neither of us will be staying in a school with a teacher torturing a student and practising the Dark Arts.”

That, finally, made the old witch cave in, though she was glaring at both of them while she led them to the Headmaster’s office. “Chocolate Frogs.”

The Headmaster’s office had not changed since the last time Hermione had been there, which had been some time ago. It was still cluttered with all sorts of mysterious items, old books and pieces of art, Fawkes peering at them from his perch, and the Headmaster frowning at the three from behind his desk.

“Minerva, I said I was not to be disturbed…” he trailed off, his eyebrows rising, and Hermione realized he had spotted the floating bound witch trailing behind them. She wondered what allowed him to see through Harry’s cloak - the spells she had tried didn’t work on it. “What have you done?”

“Prevented a crime,” Hermione stated while she and Harry pulled the cloak off the witch. McGonagall gasped, holding her hand to her mouth at the sight of the battered, bound witch that was revealed. “She was torturing Harry, and stealing his blood.” Hermione laid the quill they had taken on the desk and added: “With that dark item.”

Harry showed his hand, faint red lines still visible. “She wanted to force me to write a thousand lines in my own blood, the words carved into my hand. I took her down when I realized what she was planning.”

Dumbledore looked at the hand, then at the quill while McGonagall was cursing under her breath in Gaelic. “This is a grave situation, Harry. You have attacked the undersecretary of the Minister for Magic. This will have consequences we may not be able to deal with. Cornelius and her have been waiting for such a reaction, to get a pretext to take more serious actions against you. You have just played into her hands.” Dumbledore shook his head with regret as he chided Harry for defending himself.

Hermione would not take this. “Headmaster Dumbledore! She was torturing him and stealing his blood! Blood is a powerful substance, and used in many dark rituals. Such a vile witch getting her hands on Harry’s blood cannot be allowed. It’s far too dangerous!”

The Headmaster frowned. “You seem to know a lot about such rituals, Miss Granger.”

“I know enough to realize that one’s enemies should not get their hands on one’s blood, Headmaster.”

He didn’t press the point. “Harry… the Minister will have you arrested. My own influence has waned. I might not be able to protect you.”

“Then we’ll leave Hogwarts before he hears about it,” Harry said, with complete conviction in the feasibility of his plan. Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head.

“Harry, if you run, you’ll only make it worse. They will hunt you like Sirius.”

“Let them hunt me.”

“Us, Harry, us.” Hermione wouldn’t let her best friend face this alone. Besides, they would be safe at the Council. They’d study and train, and become Watchers.

“Do you really want to spend your life like Sirius, hunted and and hiding?” Dumbledore leaned forward, hands folded, and his gaze hard. Hermione looked into his eyes. “We won’t be hiding. The Minister will not be able to touch us.” Not without violating the treaty that was the foundation for the Statute of Secrecy.

Dumbledore jerked back as if he had been struck, and for a moment, they were treated to a rare sight - a baffled, utterly surprised Headmaster. But the moment was quickly gone, and the old wizard regained his composure. “I see you are serious. Then there is no other way than to… hide this incident. Professor Umbridge will be obliviated of this, and we will not speak about it.”

“Unless she tries to torture Harry again, or anyone else,” Hermione said.

“Miss Granger, this is a very delicate situation. We have to tread carefully, lest we push the Ministry into a course of action that will do half of Voldemort’s work for him.”

“We will not let this witch torture students. If Harry can easily subdue her, you can easily control her.” Hermione was adamant in her conviction. They would not let others suffer just so the Headmaster would have an easier time handling those corrupt fools at the Ministry.

The Headmaster closed his eyes, then nodded. “I guess this is the only way to keep this situation from getting worse.”

“Albus!” McGonagall sounded shocked.

“No, Minerva. The children are right. We cannot let Madam Umbridge torture and maim our students. That’s going too far.” He looked at Harry and Hermione. “Return to your dorm, I’ll handle the rest. She’ll believe her plan has worked and Harry is now cowed into silence. You’ll have to act the part, of course, Harry. And do not tell anyone about this, not even Mister Weasley.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry before both nodded and left the office, taking his cloak with them. They did not return to the Gryffindor dorm right away though, but went into an abandoned classroom to discuss the events.

“I wish we had interrogated her with veritaserum. We could have found out all her plans.” Hermione had considered proposing that, but she didn’t want the headmaster to know about her vial.

“We might still do that. Just a bit later.” Harry sounded unconcerned. “I wonder why the Headmaster gave in so quickly. He must really want to keep us here.”

“Do you think he knows about the Council? About our relations to it?” Hermione bit her lower lip again. She had been fired up, passion filling her, driving her on, but now, with the situation behind them, she started to doubt her actions and words.

“He certainly knows about the Council’s existence, but I am not sure if he knows about your uncle being a Watcher.”

“If he did then it would explain some things though.” She didn’t know what Dumbledore would do about it, but she suspected he would not be happy about them becoming Watchers. “We’ll have to be careful though. She might not be the only one wanting to hurt you.”

“Wouldn’t be a school year without someone wanting to kill me.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, it was true after all. So she simply hugged Harry. The two remained like that for quite some time before returning to their dorm.

*****

The next day Umbridge kept smiling triumphantly at Harry during breakfast. Obviously the Headmaster’s plan had worked. It galled Harry to act as if she had won, but he knew it was the best course of action. He didn’t want to leave his fellow students at the mercy of that sadist, after all. She was just the type to hurt his friends if she couldn’t get to him, at least in his opinion.

He still wished fervently the witch would get what she deserved. Too many evil people had escaped their just punishment in Wizarding Britain so far. Malfoy. Fudge. Pettigrew. All the Death Eaters named by Voldemort. Hermione had a list, and Umbridge had earned a place on it.

McGonagall, looking less angry at the two of them than the day before, handed Harry a note after the Transfiguration lesson that morning. The Headmaster wanted to talk to them during the first period of the afternoon. Hermione, reading over his shoulder, nodded. “Umbridge will be in in a lesson with the 6th years then.”

The two rejoined Ron, who was waiting outside the classroom for them. Harry didn’t want to keep this from Ron, but they had promised the Headmaster to keep it secret even from Ron. Maybe they’d talk in the afternoon about that as well.

*****

“What?” Hermione was sure she had to have misunderstood the Headmaster. he couldn’t actually have proposed what she thought she had heard?

“Are you out of your mind?” Apparently he could. Unless Harry had been hearing things as well Dumbledore really had proposed that Snape should teach Harry and herself Occlumency.

“Harry, my boy, Severus is the only one in Hogwarts that can teach you this. I trust him implicitly.” Dumbledore was smiling.

“I do not trust him at all! He hates me, and he never misses an opportunity to insult and punish me, no matter what happened or what I did or did not! He is a foul, loathsome git, and someone I certainly will not let at my mind!” Harry stood with his hands on the desk of the Headmaster and was screaming at the old wizard.

Hermione was pondering the implications of what she head heard. There was a technique to protect one’s mind against wizards trying to enter it. That implied that there was at least one technique or spell that allowed wizards to read one’s thoughts. Dumbledore had said he wanted to make sure Harry was not influenced by Voldemort, but that was such a unique situation, Occlumency wouldn’t have been developed just for that. No, mind reading was likely not as rare as he had made it appear.

“Calm down, Harry. Miss Granger, do you see that Harry needs to learn this to protect his mind? It will also help him to control his emotions.”

“Certainly Headmaster,” Hermione answered. Harry shot her a hurt look, and she felt a stab of pain in her chest at his expression. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Snape is the worst possible choice to teach Harry anything.” Harry smiled at that and Hermione felt at ease again.

“Miss Granger. Severus has my trust.”

“That’s fine for you. But in four years, that man has proven that he cannot be trusted when it comes to Harry. He obviously hates him, for no rational reason at all. That alone would be enough to disqualify him, but he also has proven that he is a despicable human being. He torments his students, favors Slytherins and protects the worst bigots against punishments no matter what those cretins do to anyone. And he cannot teach at all. With the possible exception of our esteemed Divination professor, he is the worst teacher I have ever seen. We would make far more progress if you’d give us a book on the subject than if we let this sorry excuse for a professor abuse Harry again under the guise of teaching him. If you are unable to provide us a teacher that has not disqualified himself by his utterly unacceptable behaviour during the last four years, then we might need to look outside Hogwarts for instructions.” Hermione had kept a lid on her temper and her voice controlled, but she was trembling with anger and passion.

Even the Headmaster seemed to have noticed, and again he sighed, nodding. “I’ll arrange for another instructor, one you have not such… harsh opinions of.”

“Please clear it with us beforehand, Sir. It seems our opinions of what is a good trustworthy teacher are a bit too far apart to trust your judgement in this matter.” Hermione smiled, but her eyes were still angry, and this time, Dumbledore too showed anger at her dig. It was petty, but Hermione didn’t care, not at the moment. She was just too riled up by the Headmaster’s blind faith in that disgusting wizard.

After they had left Dumbledore’s office, Hermione was lifted off her feet and gathered in a hug by Harry. It was a surprising show of affection by her best friend - he rarely initiated such gestures himself. Hermione enjoyed it very much and held on to him even after he started to stumble a bit and let her down again.

They looked at each other, smiling.

“Hermi...”

“Harry…”

Both started to talk at the same time, and stopped at once. For a moment they stared at each other, smiling. They were so close, Hermione realized, not just physically. Not just now. He was her best friend, she knew that, but she wanted him to be more. And she didn’t know if he felt the same. But she was a Gryffindor. Hermione licked her lips and gathered her courage, then grabbed Harry’s head and pulled him towards her head, their lips meeting in a quick, inexperienced kiss.

Hermione was sure she was blushing like a tomato when they broke the kiss, and looked away. She suddenly feared how Harry would react, couldn’t bear to look at him. Did he think she was silly to act like this? Or worse, did he feel disgusted by her sudden kiss?

She was about to work herself up into a frenzy of doubts and self-loathing when she felt a hand grip her chin, turn her head towards him, and then felt his lips on hers again, longer this time. When they broke the kiss again, her doubts had fled, and she felt happier than ever.

Judging by the silly smile Harry wore, he felt the same.

*****

Kingsley Shacklebolt was tired from a long day of dealing with paperwork and other bureaucratic obstacles when he left his office. The Ministry was still refusing to admit that Voldemort was back, and Fudge’s sycophants wasted no effort to make sure no one would do anything that even hinted at preparing for such an eventuality. Not even Amelia Bones, the leader of the DMLE, seemed to be able to do much at the moment.

He sighed, checking his watch - too late for a peaceful dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. It would be filled with the regulars now, and quite loud. But he could go and grab something in Muggle London. They had a far greater selection too, now that he thought of it. No butterbeer or pumpkin juice though - he couldn’t understand that.

On the way to the Leaky Cauldron he suddenly felt as if someone was watching him. Grabbing his wand he looked around, but couldn’t spot anyone suspicious. But in those trying times it was better to be safe than sorry. He ducked into a side alley to draw whoever might be following him out in the open. It wouldn’t be a strike team of Death Eaters. They were trying to keep the wizarding public from realizing Voldemort was back, and wouldn’t attack in Diagon Alley, where they might be seen and recognized. He could deal with a spy or stalker.

A few meters into the alley he turned, wand out, and waited. Instead of the surprised stalker he expected he was greeted with laughter though.

“That was a mistake, Auror. A mistake that will cost you dearly.”

A woman’s voice, amused, but with a cruel undertone. Supremely confident. He felt the sweat gather on his neck. He was one of the best Aurors, he knew that.

Then a slender figure slid from the shadows and stood in the entrance of the alley, moonlight showing pale skin clad in tight leather clothes. Red eyes - a vampire! “Identify yourself!” Kingsley shouted. Laughter answered him, and the female vampire suddenly charged him.

The tall Auror was ready for that though, and his wand spat a cone of fire that filled the entire alley. That wasn’t the first vampire he had fought. When the fire disappeared though she was standing there, grinning. Untouched by his fire and twirling something in her hand. With a sinking feeling he realized the vampire was carrying a wand. A witch turned vampire? There were only a few creatures like that, and all were extremely dangerous.

A red spell shot at him, and was stopped by his Shield Charm. He retaliated with a Bone Breaking Curse, which the vampiress dodged easily with an inhumane leap. Her next spell shook the alley and sent shards of stone at him. His shield repelled them, but almost broke. He tried to apparate away, but failed - she had cast an Anti-Apparition Jinx! A quick muttered word proved that his emergency portkey was useless as well. And she was between him and the exit of the alley. Behind him was a dead end. He couldn’t escape, he had to fight. Had to beat her. Or at least get past her.

To beat her, Kingsley had to box her in, keep her from using her speed and strength. He transfigured the cobblestones at his feet into a wall that cut the alley into two. Another wall next to it formed two lanes, too narrow to dodge anything inside it. He started to run as he was forming a plane of stone to cover both against attacks from above. Five metres from the exit, from Diagon Alley, he cast a Bombarda at the front, in the hope of catching her where she was preparing to ambush him.

Before he could exit the alley, he was tackled from behind with enough force to go through his shield and break his ribs. She had not waited at the front, but had circled around him, and entered the makeshift tunnel behind him. He was outmatched in strength, unable to defend himself or push the monster back. His wand arm was pushed aside, hammered at the ground until he had lost the grip on his wand, then he felt her bite into his throat, drinking his blood. Despite the pain and blood loss that made him feel light-headed he managed to shake the small cross he carried on a bracelet inside his left cuff out and press it against her head.

She jerked back with a scream and the smell of burning skin and hair, but then he felt the small cross get ripped out of his weakening fingers in response to a flick of her wand. It had gained him enough time to summon his own wand back though.

One hand pressed to his bleeding throat, growing weaker by the second, Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes preventing him from fleeing, he grinned at her, then raised his wand. He would not be turned. She was fast, but not fast enough to stop him before he blew his own head off with a Blasting Curse.

*****

Voldemort was in a good mood when he heard the report from Roselyn. Shacklebolt was dead. Dumbledore had lost one of his best combattants, and one of his most useful contacts in the Ministry. Snape’s information about the Auror members of the Order of the Phoenix had been as useful as expected. His old foe was now left with Mad-Eye Moody and Nymphadora Tonks. Moody would be too paranoid to be taken easily, but the same paranoia would make him less useful to Dumbledore, and less able to influence the Ministry. Not many of Moody’s old friends were still active, or alive, and he would be loathe to trust anyone. Nymphadora Tonks… he’d save her for Bellatrix, once he had broken her and the other faithful out of Azkaban. His most loyal Lieutenant deserved the opportunity to remove that stain on her family’s honor herself. Besides, she was just a junior auror, hardly of any consequence.

*****


	4. Changing Plans

**Chapter 4: Changing Plans**

Albus Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk and ignoring the parchments in front of him. He had more important things to consider than the monthly expenses of the school. Unlike Minerva, he was not too concerned, much less angry about the fact that Harry and Miss Granger had managed to push him and his deputy Headmistress into committing quite a number of crimes to cover up the incident with Dolores Umbridge. They had not planned on that, after all, and at the end of the day, obliviating the undersecretary and placing compulsion charms on her was a small matter in light of what was at stake. Minerva would realize that in time as well, and let go of her anger.

No, what had shaken him was what he had found out during his brief glimpse into Miss Granger’s mind. Not only was the young witch far more ruthless and intelligent than he had thought, which was a concern for the future, but she had a connection to the Watchers Council! And through her, so had Harry! Dumbledore hadn’t been able to catch more than a glimpse of the girl’s memories, but it had been clear that the Watchers were aware of Voldemort’s return, and had called the Slayer to Britain.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. If the Slayer was about to hunt wizards, then that could lead to a war between Wizarding Britain and the Watchers Council. Many wizards would fear a witch hunt, and Voldemort’s supporters would easily be able to paint all muggleborn wizards as traitors and a danger due to the muggleborn Watchers. And the war would be a disaster. The losses the wizards would take fighting watchers and the Slayer were a small concern compared to the consequences of actually beating the Watchers Council - an outcome that was quite likely, given the disparity in numbers of wizards. Not even the Slayer was enough to counter that.

He took a deep breath. If the Watchers Council and with it the Slayer were destroyed, the world would be doomed. Multiple prophecies stated that clearly. A war with the Council had to be averted, at any cost.

But how to achieve that? Fudge was not listening to him, and not even the threat of the Slayer might change that, as long as Malfoy had the Minister’s ear. And the Watchers… Miss Granger didn’t trust him that much, he had gleaned that as well, and once she realized he had read her thoughts - which she likely had already, come to think of, since she’d know what Occlumency was created for - she’d trust him even less.

And yet, what alternatives did he have? He could not trust anyone else to handle such an important matter, and the Watchers would trust him even less than Miss Granger did. He knew the kind of wizard that joined the Council. Those who saw no future in Wizarding Britain and were so disillusioned that they did not mind spending the often short rest of their lives fighting threats even Aurors feared to face. And many of them would blame him, as the most visible and famous wizard of Britain, for it. If only he had the power so many believed he had!

He had to find an Occlumency teacher whom not only he trusted, but whom the two children would trust as well. That narrowed the selection down quite a bit. They did not trust him enough for that, he knew that already. Alastor was, while trusted, far too suspicious of everyone to teach such a delicate subject. Nymphadora was a possible teacher, but she had to watch her steps with the Ministry already, and she was so young still… Remus would be a good choice, he had proven he could be trusted, but could Dumbledore spare him now, when he was tracking down the new leader of Greyback’s pack? He pondered the situation, and nodded. Protecting Harry and repairing some of the trust of Miss Granger and likely Harry as well that he had lost were more important now than dealing with the werewolves.

He wrote down a brief note, sealed it, and turned to his oldest companion. “Fawkes, might you be willing to carry this to Remus for me?”

*****

Harry was letting his thoughts wander in History of Magic. That was nothing unusual - everyone did it. He suspected even Hermione was not really paying attention to the droning ghost teacher, since she surely had read the book ahead of the year already. Hermione… the current subject of his wandering thoughts. And, he added as he snuck a glance at his best friend, and now girlfriend, subject of his wandering eyes. Girlfriend… he couldn’t keep a dreamy smile off his face remembering the last evening.

Hermione had licked her lips, then grabbed his head and kissed him. A quick kiss, but not just a peck on his lips, a proper kiss. He had been so surprised, he hadn’t known how to react. She had blushed, avoiding his eyes, fidgeting and growing nervous, while he had been standing there, staring at her his best friend. Who had just kissed him. When he had realized how she was reacting, growing nervous, anxious, he had suddenly known how to react, had reached out, gently pulled her head towards him, and kissed her. She had smiled, so full of happiness, and he … he had been sure that if he had cast a Patronus right then and there, that the Dementors would have felt it in Azkaban.

He hadn’t known how long they had stood there, embracing each other, but just as they had been about to kiss each other again, they had heard steps coming closer, and had broken apart out of reflex - an action he had regretted at once. For a moment, Hermione had looked hurt. Then she had taken his hand and led him to an empty classroom, evading whoever was nearby. It hadn’t been past curfew yet, so they had not been doing anything wrong, but with Umbridge being obliviated by the Headmaster, they certainly had had something to hide.

Hermione had cast a privacy spell on the door, and had turned to him. “So… what do we do now?”

“About Umbridge? Play along with the Headmaster’s plan, I think,” Harry had answered, slightly confused.

“I mean about us.” Hermione had sounded far less sure of herself than she usually did when discussing things.

“Us being a couple, you mean.” He had smiled at her, to reassure her, and put her hands on her shoulders. She had opened her mouth in silent surprise, an adorable sight that had made him want to kiss her again right then.

“Yes.” She had nodded, her eyes not straying from his, and he had kissed her then. It hadn’t been what Ron would have called ‘snogging’, but it had left both of them flushed.

“Do you want to hide our relationship from the others?” Hermione had met his eyes with an unreadable expression, and he had remembered the reactions to that cursed article in the Daily Prophet, last year. The letter with the bubotuber pus.

“I don’t want to, but if you think you’ll be safer…” Harry had trailed off when she had shaken her head emphatically, sending her hair flying.

“No, no. I don’t want to hide it.” For a moment he had thought she was about to cry, there had been something in her eyes, but it had passed. “We’re hiding enough already. The Council, Umbridge, our planned training…”

“Good.” He had pulled her into another hug then, and had kissed her again.

“We can use our relationship as a cover for our training, and our… information gathering,” Hermione had continued, after the kiss. Ever the practical one. “People will assume we’re off … snogging, when we are actually training.”

“We’ll still snog though. And not just to keep up our cover.” He had wanted to tease her, but it had come out more of a question than he had planned. For a moment he had felt doubt. Was he good enough for her? What if he bungled this up? He hadn’t kissed anyone before Hermione. And she had been with Krum. Maybe she expected more of him…

“We will.” This time, Hermione had used her tongue during the kiss.

“Oi, Mate. Wake up. Lesson’s over.” Harry was shaken from his reminiscing by Ron’s hand on his shoulder. Ron… they had yet to tell him.

*****

Hermione was waiting for Harry and Ron in an unused classroom on the third floor. It wasn’t ideal for training, but with a couple spells on the door, including an illusion that covered it and made it appear as a blank wall, it should be safe enough from getting discovered by a teacher or prefect. She rearranged the desks she had shunted to the back again, but for the one she was sitting on with her legs dangling. The young witch wasn’t nervous, not really. Compared to what she had faced and would face in the future, telling Ron that she and Harry were now dating was not particularly daunting. Or to be more precise, it shouldn’t be. But she couldn’t help being afraid of losing her other best friend. Ron had a jealous streak that sometimes got the better of him, like when Harry had been named the fourth Champion of the Triwizard Tournament last year. If he decided Harry and her being a couple meant they didn’t want to be friends with him anymore…

She did not want to dwell on that. Harry had mentioned Ron could be jealous of him, but she didn’t think that would be the case. Well, maybe in the sense of Harry getting a girlfriend before Ron, but she was quite certain Ron didn’t fancy her. That one time at the Yule Ball didn’t prove a thing. She shoved the thought away. They had bigger concerns anyway - Voldemort, Death Eaters, and the danger of wizards reading their minds. She had read up on Legilimency, and it required eye contact, so they had at least one, although rather weak, form of defense. If anyone read her mind and found out about the Council, and the Slayer… if Dumbledore had read her mind...

The door opened, and Harry and Ron entered. “Did you see the door?” she asked, before either could say anything.

“Yes, Hermione, your spell worked. Ron couldn’t see it, but I could,” Harry answered, closing the door. Ron frowned.

“Good. My spell worked then. It allows selected people to see through the illusion. I’ll add you to it next time, Ron,” Hermione said happily and jumped down from the desk she had been sitting on. She wanted to hug and kiss Harry, but didn’t.

“So… what’s this all about?” Ron was looking around, a bit too nonchalantly. The redhead was nervous, Hermione knew him well enough to tell. Harry took the initiative.

“With Voldemort back it’s just a matter of time until he or his Death Eaters comes at me, and at my friends. So, we’ll be preparing for that. Spells, tactics, gear. Well be mostly training here, during the term, and then with Sirius and Remus and whoever else will be helping over the holidays. It’s not as if we’ll be learning anything in Defense this year.” The wizard scoffed at that.

“It won’t be a study group though, or a dueling club,” Hermione added. meeting Ron’s eyes. “We won’t be learning for our O.W.L.s, though the training will certainly help with that as well. We’ll be learning how to fight.” She channeled Fitzburg a bit. “We’ll be learning how to kill.”

“Kill?” Ron sounded taken aback, and he turned to look at Harry. Hermione didn’t know why he looked afraid suddenly.

“Yes. If the Death Eaters come at us, they’ll be trying to kill us, or worse. Us and our families. We’re in a war, and if we’re not willing to kill, then we’ll have lost the war from the start.” Harry nodded at their friend, his expression dead serious. He remembered Uncle Quentin’s talks as well, Hermione knew. “And we cannot afford to lose the war, or we and all those we love will be doomed.”

“If we stun someone, it’ll be to capture and interrogate them. Not to spare them. Whoever follows Voldemort has already proven he is a dark wizard willing to murder innocents.” Hermione’s words made Ron turn his head towards her again. She was speaking with a bit more conviction than she felt - there were compulsion charms and the Imperius Curse, after all. But then, far more had claimed to have been under Voldemort’s Imperius in the last war than was plausible, or even possible. No, her uncle was right - they were in a war, and couldn’t afford to play around with stunners.

“Are you in, Ron?” Harry asked, staring at the other wizard with an intensity he rarely showed. Hermione loved to see him like that, showing his potential, a glimpse of the wizard he would grow up to be, but she hated the situation that made him show it.

Ron took a deep breath, not quite shaking, and licked his lips. He was staring past the two of them, mulling their words over while they waited. After a minute, he looked at Harry, then at Hermione. “Yes. Yes, I am in. He almost killed Ginny three years ago. Those bastards killed my two uncles in the last war. They’ll come at us again.” He was sounding more convinced with each word, and when he finished, his expression mirrored Harry’s.

With a more than slightly relieved smile, Harry patted his shoulder. “Good, mate. It’ll be hard, but we’ll show them.” Hermione simply wrapped her arms around both of them.

After a bit, Ron asked: “So… what was the second secret?”

*****

Ron Weasley was glad he had a patrol that night. It gave him an excuse to leave the common room early. He was still trying to deal with what Harry and Hermione had revealed to him, earlier in the evening. Training to fight, no, to kill Death Eaters. Being a couple. He knew the former was more important, far more important, but he was thinking more about the latter. Deciding to join them training, and later fighting, killing, hadn’t been easy, but it felt right. He’d rather kill than lose anyone from his family. But watching Harry and Hermione, together… he wasn’t sure what he felt about that. Or what he should feel about it. He knew he was jealous, but was he jealous of the two of them having something special, or was he jealous of Harry for having a girlfriend? Or was he jealous of Harry for having Hermione as a girlfriend?

He sighed. He didn’t know. He only knew he was jealous. But he did know that he had to know. Or something like that. It was getting complicated, and he didn’t like that. He knew some thought he was simple, but wanting things to be complicated was rather dumb, in his opinion. If he was going to fight Death Eaters, then he couldn’t afford to worry about his jealousy, so he had to solve that. Simple. Or it should be. But it wasn’t.

“Sorry I am a bit late, Ron, but with that shocking surprise tonight, time flew!” His fellow 5th year Gryffindor prefect, Lavender Brown, had arrived. Blonde, bubbly, pretty - beautiful, he corrected himself - she was one of the most popular girls in their year. Among the boys, in any case. He didn’t know how the girls felt about her. Hermione didn’t gossip about such matters, other than to complain about Lavender and Parvati gossiping.

“It’s no problem, I haven’t been waiting long.” He smiled at her, pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against, next to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Ah, well, you already knew, of course! I guess it’s old news for you,” Lavender said while they started walking. “So, when did they tell you?”

Ron glanced at the young witch and realized he couldn’t escape that particular topic. “They told me today, after they got together yesterday.”

“Oh. Did you expect that? I mean, you three have been such close friends for years, always doing things together, and Harry hasn’t shown much interest in any other girl. Parvati told me he hardly paid any attention to her at the Yule Ball. Do you think that was when he fell in love with her? She was looking great then, it was a surprise for everyone I think.”

Ron didn’t want to talk, or think about the Yule Ball. Not one of his finest moments. Though he had to admit it was the first time he had realized that Hermione could be a pretty girl, and Harry had looked quite surprised himself at seeing her descend those stairs. But saying that… he wasn’t the smartest wizard, but even he knew that would cause trouble, for his friends, and for him. “I do not think he fell in love with her because she dressed up for the ball.”

“Why did he fall in love with her then?” Lavender turned her head to watch him even as the two of them kept walking. Weren’t they supposed to look around? Not that he felt like doing it either.

“I don’t know. I mean, she’s a great friend. Always there to help you, no matter what happens. Smart, brilliant but scary…” he had to smile at that particular memory “...and brave. Stubborn too though, and she can be quite bossy if she thinks she’s right. Which she often thinks, and is.” He was looking ahead, and missed Lavender’s reaction to his words. “She’s a muggleborn, and Harry’s muggle raised, so they share that.” Something else they had in common that he didn’t, he realized. His two friends came from another world, something most seem to miss when talking about the hero of Wizarding Britain. Not that many called him that right now.

“Do you think they’ll stay together?” Lavender’s tone was light, as if it was just idle curiosity, but glanced at her and she was almost hanging on his lips. Kind of like Hermione got, when she saw a book she wanted.

Would his friends stay together? He pondered that. In all the years - and didn’t that make him sound older than he was, he thought - Harry had not been angry at Hermione, but for that time with the Firebolt. He and the girl had clashed often, he realized, but Harry hadn’t. Ron knew that meant something. Something about him too. “Yes, yes I think they’ll do.” He caught himself smiling at the thought. “Thanks.”

His fellow prefect blinked in surprise. “For what?”

“You made me realize I haven’t fallen in love with her.” Simple, in hindsight.

“Oh!”

Ron didn’t understand why Lavender acted as if this was another important revelation.

*****

“We’ll need to learn Occlumency,” Hermione stated a few days later, in what was becoming ‘their room’.

“What’s that?” Ron looked up from the defense book he was reading. Their friend could be quite focused if he was motivated. And as sad as it was, knowing the worst Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries was out there was quite the motivation.

“A technique to keep others from reading your thoughts. Others like Snape.” That made him gasp, as Hermione had known it would. She didn’t know if Snape actually could read minds, but it made sense. How could you teach Occlumency without being able to test it?

“That git can read our minds?” Ron sounded furious and horrified at the possibility.

“He was proposed to us as a possible Occlumency teacher, so I’d say it’s very unlikely that he can’t read minds.” Hermione waited a bit while Ron cursed. “Dumbledore said he was looking for another possible teacher, but I am not too optimistic.”

“Why can’t Dumbledore teach us?”

“He could, but… I am not sure I trust him.” Harry stopped practising his Piercing Curse on a slab of transfigured stone. “He suggested Snape as a teacher, after all - and who in his right state of mind would think that letting that arse at our minds was a good idea?”

Hermione wanted to call Harry out for his language, but suppressed the urge. Snape deserved that kind of insult, after all.

Ron nodded. “The Headmaster must be barmy!”

“I’ve written to Sirius. He might have a book about Occlumency in the Black Library.” And the former marauder would sneak it to them without telling anyone, Harry knew.

“Until we can learn it, do not look into the eyes of anyone that might be able to cast the spell if they have a wand in hand. Best avoid looking into their eyes, wand or not.” They would appear to be rude, Hermione knew, but it was better than risking their secrets to be spilled. “And that includes anyone from the staff.”

“You should be keeping an eye on someone’s wand anyway, in case they are a threat,” Harry added, citing a defense text he had read earlier. Her boyfriend was a good study when motivated as well, Hermione had found that out last year, when they were learning spells for the tournament. She had liked seeing that Harry very much, and liked his return even more, despite the circumstances responsible for that. “Until we get an answer, we’ll practise our Shield Charms and other combat spells. Come on!” Harry said.

Hermione got up from her desk, where she had been making notes from a tract on potion use in combat. That was a new side of her boyfriend - he was a demanding, but talented teacher. She even had had an ‘interesting’ dream, with Harry as the teacher and her as the naughty student in detention, last night, and still wondered if she should tell him about it. She pushed the fantasy away and drew her wand. Training was no time for such thoughts.

*****

India Cohen was staring at the small house 50 metres away with a hungry expression. There lived Alecto Carrow, the sister of Amycus Carrow. Dark witch, Death Eater, murderer. She had escaped justice after the first fall of Voldemort, she would not escape the Slayer. Not if the wards on the house would finally fall. She could feel them, sense them. Tense, hostile, just waiting to unleash what dark magic was stored in them on an intruder. It made her want to charge forward, dare them to do their worst. Her fingers dug into the bark of the branch she was crouching on until small bits of wood were falling down.

Below her, Kit was waiting, seemingly patient, while Fitzburg studied the wards. If only the wizard would hurry up! Kit suddenly looked up, and smiled at her, and India felt herself growing calmer, less frustrated. Kit did that to her. Made her happy. He could make her happier even, if he would just… she squashed that line of thought. It wasn’t the place, nor time to dwell on that. She was older now, no longer a child. He’d see that, sooner or later.

Fitzburg sighed. That wasn’t a good sign. “I can deal with the muggle-repelling ward easily enough, but that will likely alert whoever is inside the house.” He was speaking in a low voice, but India heard him as well as if he was standing next to her and speaking to a large audience. “Taking down the other wards though will take me an hour, at least. And I’d have to keep up anti-apparition wards as well. And I’d have to shut down floo travel, which I am not sure I can manage by myself to start with.”

India could see where this was headed, and growled. Her prey would not escape! She’d bring it down! Kit looked at her, and she looked away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “That’s too long for a raid. If she has a way to call for help, we’d be at risk.”

“She won’t have a phone, but there are other ways. Communication mirrors. Even an owl might be fast enough for help to arrive,” Fitzburg answered.

“So, we need more wizards to deal with the wards,” Kit summed it up.

“Or a trained curse-breaker or warder.”

“Which we do not have.”

India dropped down the five metres from her perch, landing in a crouch on the softer earth below with barely a sound. Straightening up, she addressed the two men: “I can get in there. The wards cannot stop me.” She knew that. Nothing stopped the Slayer.

Kit though shook his head. “It’s too risky. You might get hurt by the wards anyway.”

“We could blow the house up. The wards won’t stop explosives, and anti-fire charms won’t stop the blast either.” Fitzburg’s proposal sounded good to India. Not as personal as she wanted, but maybe the witch would survive and flee outside…

Kit wasn’t convinced though. India knew it before he spoke, just from the way his lips formed a thinner line for a second. “We’d need a lot of explosives, and we would alert the rest of the Death Eaters to that possibility. It’s better to save that option for a more important target.”

India grit her teeth in frustration. To be so close to her target, but not able to get to it… Kit placed his hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed a bit, taking a deep breath.

“You will get her, I promise. We’ll find a way.” Her watcher sounded confident. Reassuring.

India smiled at Kit. She knew he was right. The Council always found a way, sooner or later.

*****

Quentin Travers put Fitzburg’s report down, frowning. He had expected such complications, if not as soon in the campaign. Attacking the Death Eater hideouts would require a larger force than anticipated. Maybe a larger force than the Council could bring to bear without stripping other crucial locations of their defenders.

Wizards. It came down to needing more wizards to deal with those wards. More wizards than they could spare right now. Of course, once Voldemort’s return was common knowledge, recruiting would be easier. A lot of muggleborn wizards and witches would be looking for a way to protect their families and to fight back. The Council would offer both. Like in the last war. But Voldemort would have grown stronger too, until then.

He glanced at Rupert’s report. There were rituals to neutralize wards. They wouldn’t need wizards for that. Watchers with the talent could do those. But they took hours. Too long for a raid. Possible for a siege, but that would likely cause their enemies to gather to break the siege, and that was a battle he wasn’t sure they would win. Not without more information about their enemy.

Fitzburg’s idea of using explosives had merit, but the wizards would adapt quickly. One, two mansions gone, maybe three, if they were lucky and hit isolated ones, but then they’d wise up and fortify their hideouts. And Her Majesty’s Finest didn’t look kindly on that amount of explosives being used on British soil. One could kidnap a Death Eater and strap a bomb on him, but the timing would be an issue. To hit Voldemort, the kidnapping would have to remain undetected until the next time the Death Eaters gathered, and as they had found out from Carrow, that depended on the whim of that self-styled Dark Lord. And if they captured a Death Eater, destroying his or her mansion was no longer much of a priority anyway, outside the few cases where entire families were involved, and there again, timing was an issue.

He leaned back and looked at the ceiling of his office. Even Death Eaters hiding in their manors, behind their wards, had a weakness: their children. They would be able to enter, might even know how to bypass the wards, in some cases. His grandniece could kidnap some of them, and interrogate them. Find out how to disable the wards, or how to get through the floos, even.

Strapping bombs on them at the end of the term might be a viable way to kill a number of the Death Eaters as well, though he doubted Hermione would go along with that plan. She had not the experience he had, hadn’t understood yet what one needed to do to keep humanity safe. Although some of those children might already have become murderers, and therefore should be acceptable targets.

He would have to send the girl a letter with instructions, encrypted to be safe, and mailed through his niece. Just in case.

*****

India Cohen was stalking Knockturn Alley again, but without a specific target this time. Kit had sent her out to hunt “targets of opportunity”. Vampires, hags, dark wizards. Enemies of humanity. Kit understood her, knew that she needed something to hunt, to kill, to let her vent the frustration caused by her failure to kill Alecto Carrow. To even attempt killing her.

She had played with the thought of using herself as bait. A poor girl, lost in the alley. She had decided against it though. Tonight she wanted to hunt as the Slayer she was. Stalking her prey, not using a ruse to lure them to her. She slid through she shadows, towards a corner, then jumped straight up, grasping the edge of the sloping roof with both hands. She pushed off the wall with her feet and swung up as if she was holding a high bar, landing smoothly on the roof, her rubber-soled boots finding easy purchase where the leather soles most wizards used in their footwear would slip.

Jumping from roof to roof she searched for prey. In a side alley she spotted a hag, carrying a basket with pieces of meat. She dropped down on the monster from above, slamming it into the cobblestones with enough force to break bones and drive the air out of its lungs so its surprised noise would not carry far. Her left foot came down on the arm not entangled with the basket and pinned it to the ground. She gripped the greasy hair with her gloved hands and pulled its head back, then cut its throat with a silver dagger, silencing it before it could scream for help.

She was back on the roof, the dagger wiped clean on the monster’s cloak, while it still was trashing around, choking on its own the blood. India felt better already.

*****

Voldemort was pondering a puzzle. According to his spy, the Order had sent Dumbledore’s pet werewolf to Greyback’s pack, to make contact with the new leader who had killed Greyback. But his own contacts among those beasts told him that there was no new leader yet. No one had stepped up and claimed the kill, and Greyback’s lieutenants were still fighting for the position. No one knew who, or what, had killed the werewolf. Maybe one of his victims had taken revenge? It had been a woman, and Greyback had had a reputation…

In any case, Lupin could not be allowed to meddle with the pack. Voldemort needed disposable servants for the moment. He couldn’t risk his followers, and even Roselyn could only do so much, and if she was recognized, she would bring down more attention than he liked anyway. He might have to send her to contact the other, weaker vampires. They would be afraid to attack wizards, but he was sure Roselyn would be able to cow them into following orders.

And there was the matter of the prophecy to consider. The one thing that would finally reveal to him just what kind of power Potter had, to resist him so often. The prophecy stored in the Department of Mysteries, behind defenses he didn’t know - yet. Rookwood, who had been his agent in that department, was still imprisoned in Azkaban. Lucius had used an Imperius Curse to send Sturgis Podmore, another Order member Snape had revealed to him, after the prophecy, but the man had been found unconscious and bleeding right at the door. Clearly, this required more planning.

He returned to the matter of Lupin. Someone had to deal with that werewolf. Snape would be the obvious choice. His spy hated werewolves and especially Lupin with a passion. But such an action would put his spy’s cover at risk, and Lupin was not worth that. Roselyn would be able to kill him easily, but the Dark Lord knew he could not use her too much for such tasks. Not only was she making his followers more nervous than was helpful, but if he depended too much on the witch turned vampire, some might question his own power.

But then, it might not be needed to kill the werewolf. It shouldn’t take much to have Fudge arrest Lupin. A few remarks from Lucius about how that werewolf was both Dumbledore’s servant and a friend of Sirius Black, maybe arrange some testimony about him attacking students at Hogwarts a year ago… Umbridge would jump at the chance to prosecute another of the beasts, if she wasn’t currently at Hogwarts, but her successor was no lover of the dark creatures either. With a bit of luck this could see Lupin executed, or force Dumbledore to spend more of his steadily waning influence to protect him. With a bit more luck, both could happen.

*****


	5. Troubles with Training

**Chapter 5: Troubles with Training**

Hermione Granger entered the Headmaster’s office in Hogwarts at Harry Potter’s side with some apprehension. She didn’t trust the old wizard that much, not when she had good reasons to suspect that he had read her thoughts and memories. She had told Harry and herself that they would just have to avoid looking the Headmaster or any other wizard into the eyes, but that was not as reassuring as it should have been. This was Dumbledore, after all. The greatest wizard of Britain. She stiffened when she felt a hand on her back on the stairs, then relaxed some when she realized it was Harry’s, smiling at him. But when they entered the office proper, she was wearing a bland expression, her back straight and her mind filled with arguments and counterarguments. She was ready for a confrontation.

Remus Lupin being present, with his usual worn robes and slightly sad smile, threw her a bit. She caught Harry’s eyes lighting up - her boyfriend loved the former teacher like an uncle. Not as much as Sirius, but the werewolf was one of the few people Harry considered family. She wondered what Dumbledore was planning, bringing Lupin here, but not Sirius.

“Good evening, Miss Granger, Harry.” The Headmaster nodded at both, smiling, behind his desk. “Please take a seat.”

“Hello Harry, Hermione.” Lupin looked a bit more tired than usual. The full moon had been just a few days ago, after all, and the transformation was both painful and exhausting, as Hermione knew from her studies. She also knew a few more ways to kill a werewolf thanks to the Watcher’s guide to lycanthropes, but currently she was not carrying any silver or wolfsbane. Not that she would have a reason to use either on Lupin. Not unless he forgot to take his potion again during the full moon.

“Hello Remus, Headmaster.” Harry smiled broadly while Hermione stuck to smiling and nodding to the two older wizards.

“I am sure you’re wondering why I called you into my office,” Dumbledore started.

“Yes, Headmaster.” Hermione studiously avoided meeting his eyes. Judging by his slight sigh, he might have noticed.

“I called Remus here since he is a skilled teacher, and he knows Occlumency.” So that was the Headmaster’s proposal. A trusted teacher- for a certain definition of ‘trusted’. Hermione knew Harry loved the wizard, but while he was the best teacher they had had in Defense against the Dark Arts, she had some reservations about his loyalties. The young witch wasn’t sure she wanted him to know her secrets - or the Council’s. But she had an inkling that Harry would not share her concerns. “I hope Remus meets with your approval and has your trust.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry. He was smiling, hopeful. She managed not to wince. Hoping he’d understand, and not hate her for it, she started to ask some questions so she had a bit more time to prepare her argument. “When and where would those lessons take place, Sir?”

“There are a few unused classrooms that would offer, with the right spells, the needed privacy. With the Ministry’s attention on Harry I feel a location outside Hogwarts would not be advisable. And I think once a week, at the least. It is important for you to shield your minds.”

“Ron should have the lessons as well.” Hermione couldn’t get a read on the old wizard. Was he honestly helpful, and concerned, or did he want to get Remus to pry their minds as fast as possible for whatever knowledge he had missed?

“Of course. Young Mister Weasley is your best friend and therefore should be able to protect the secrets shared as well.” Dumbledore sounded pleased. He likely assumed that Remus’s ‘appointment’ was a done deal. And he was likely correct. Though Hermione could not help but wonder if he already knew what they had told Ron.

“Scheduling will have to take his prefect duties into account though.” That was one reason why she hadn’t wanted to become a prefect.

“I am sure we can accommodate that. I am the Headmaster after all.” She could see Dumbledore’s smile widen.

Before Hermione could think of another way to stall for time, they were interrupted by a call from the floo. “Headmaster! Headmaster!” That was Tonks’s voice coming from the fireplace. And she sounded alarmed. And alarming.

“Yes, Nymphadora?” Dumbledore didn’t lose his calm, and sounded as if he was asking about the weather.

“Are you alone, Sir?”

“I am in my office with Remus, Harry and Miss Granger.”

“Merlin’s beard! The DMLE just put out a warrant for Remus’ arrest! He’s wanted for attacking students as a werewolf, and suspected to have helped Sirius escape from Hogwarts. An Auror group is on the way to Hogwarts!”

Hermione was later feeling guilty that her first reaction to this crisis had been relief that she wouldn’t have to come between Harry and Lupin.

*****

Remus had barely managed to leave by the floo when Dumbledore was alerted by portraits that Aurors had entered Hogwarts. “Do you have your cloak with you, Harry?”

Harry Potter nodded. As if he would not keep the cloak on him, with the threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters so close! Well, he might not, if he had not a mokeskin pouch to keep it from getting confiscated by a certain git or witch.

“Good. Please use it so you and Miss Granger can leave my office undetected. It would be better if you were not seen with me by the aurors.”

Outside the Headmaster’s office, hidden from sight, Harry was quickly realizing that and how Hermione had grown up since the last time they had shared the cloak. If she wasn’t his girlfriend, their escape from the Headmaster’s office would have been quite awkward. Even so feeling her pressed against his back was … distracting. Not as bad as it would have been if she was in front of him though. That would have been very embarrassing.

He wasn’t sure what was more nerve-wracking: Standing still next to a suit of armor while half a dozen red-robed aurors and Umbridge swept past, on their way to Dumbledore, or feeling Hermione’s breath on his neck, and her chest pressed into his back. Fortunately they didn’t have to wait too long like that, and once the aurors and their most hated teacher had disappeared into the Headmaster’s office they could move more freely. Harry was still sighing with relief when they finally ducked into ‘their’ unused classroom.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione was looking at him with concern.

“Yes, yes. Just a bit stressed.” He raised his hand as if to hold back any more questions, and she nodded in understanding.

“I guess Remus cannot teach us now.” He was frustrated. He would have loved to spend more time with his honorary uncle. And now both Remus and Sirius were wanted wizards, forced into hiding! He grit his teeth. It was all Fudge’s and Malfoy’s fault! If they were here he’d have gladly hexed them. Damn them! He wanted to hex, kick, hit something, anything.

The young wizard didn’t realize just how obvious his anger had been until Hermione hugged him, and whispered reassuring words into his ear. He closed his eyes, grateful for her presence, her closeness, and felt his anger leave, his tension lessen. Replaced by another emotion.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“Anytime, Harry.”

He knew she meant it literally. Had known it for a long time now. She would be there for him. Anytime he needed her. He could only hope he would be able to do the same for her. He gently pushed her a bit back, breaking her hug. For a brief moment she looked insecure, even vulnerable, as if she was fearing he’d reject her. Before she could say anything though he gently leaned forward and kissed her, and this time he felt her relax in his arms.

By the time they returned to the Gryffindor dorm, their cover of having snuck out to snog had been maintained quite a bit, in Hermione’s words.

*****

Patrolling was different these days, Ron thought. With Aurors stationed at Hogwarts, officially to protect the school against the dangerous werewolf Lupin, he felt both redundant and nervous when walking through the corridors. What use was looking for students who might be violating curfew in this situation? Who would be so stupid as to leave their dorms when Aurors might mistake them for Lupin in the dark? Apart from his brothers, of course.

He didn’t trust those Aurors either. They were too friendly with Umbridge, and with the Slytherins. Probably Slytherins themselves, the lot of them, and just waiting for an excuse to hex a Gryffindor, or a muggleborn. Lavender must be nervous as well, he thought. She was walking much closer to him than usual.

He had the sudden urge to wrap an arm around her shoulders, reassure her they were safe, but resisted it. Witches did not like such sudden familiarity. Not usually at least. Lavender was no Hermione, but he was sure she knew a few painful hexes anyway.

“Do you think the werewolf will come to Hogwarts?” Lavender sounded timid.

“I do not think so. And even if he did, he’d not harm us.”

“But they say he was attacking students two years ago and Dumbledore hushed it up!”

Ron couldn’t help but scoff. “I was one of the students attacked. That only happened because he forgot his potion, and that only happened because … of the Dementors.” He had almost blamed Pettigrew, not a safe thing to do in the current atmosphere, with not just Umbridge, but Aurors watching for such ‘dissenting remarks’. Mind you, he still had some grudge about the whole incident, but while Lupin had forgotten to take his potion, Sirius had actually bitten and kidnapped him. He still didn’t think Lupin had a good excuse for his ‘lapse’, but it wasn’t as if Ron himself had never done something really stupid, dangerous, or both. His attitude towards Harry at the start of the tournament last year came to mind, one of his worst moments.

His words didn’t seem to reassure Lavender. His expression probably hadn’t helped. He smiled at the pretty witch. “Look, either way, he’s smart. You know that from when he taught us. He won’t come to Hogwarts, and it’s not a full moon anyway. And we have Aurors to protect us. Or at least absorb the first spell so we can run away.” She giggled at that. A good sign. He didn’t like to see a fellow Gryffindor afraid. She still was sticking close to him, even though she was not sounding, nor acting timid anymore.

They rounded a corner, and froze, staring at the wand of an Auror.

“What are you doing outside your dorms!” The wizard sounded both nervous and excited. Ron recognized him - Dawlish. Not the smartest one, even by his standards.

“We’re prefects, on patrol.” Ron withstood the urge to point at their badges. People like Dawlish didn’t like it when one pointed out their obvious mistakes. Judging from the way the man scowled, he had realized it himself.

“Go on then, and don’t sneak up on me next time!”

They walked more quickly, and Ron didn’t relax until they had turned around a corner and Dawlish couldn’t hex him in the back. Even though he was rather sure the Auror wouldn’t do that. Probably. A Slytherin would, and he looked like one.

“And that’s supposed to protect us?” Lavender sounded angry. Staring down a wand wielded by an auror with no brains was not a pleasant experience.

“According to our Defense teacher, yes.” Ron didn’t scoff then, but his tone was full of scorn. Due to those Aurors he and his friends couldn’t train anymore.

“I am sure you could do a better job if they let you.”

He smiled at that. “I would certainly never hex you.”

Ron realized Hermione was wrong. Lavender’s giggling was not grating on the nerves at all. He rather liked it, instead.

*****

India was on the prowl again. She wasn’t hunting wizards though, nor the monsters kept by them. No, she was hunting vampires. The Council had noticed a rise in missing people in and around Birmingham, and a few quite suspicious bodies with torn throats - it looked like the vampire population in the area had grown recently, and whether it was a master vampire siring more minions than usual, or some sort of migration, the Slayer was sent to deal with it.

And deal with it she would! Even if she had to suppress the urge to pounce on the undead demon walking on the street in front of her, knock it down and shove her stake into its heart. Not yet. She had to see where the monster was going. Find out if it was working with other vampires. Then she would destroy it. Unless it tried to feed. Then she’d intervene right away. She smiled without noticing at that thought. Her blood seemed to sing with the thrill of hunting.

Kit was in a car, driving around in the area. Close enough to help, if needed, not close enough to tip the vampire off. Or be in too much danger. India liked Kit close, but safe. If something happened to him, she would not know what she’d do. But it would be violent and brutal. Very brutal.

The vampire on the ground below her was turning into a side alley, and she followed after a bit, not making any sound that the monster could pick up. She longed to take to the roofs, but she might lose the vampire in the time she’d need to climb up - or down, should it cross a street.

The vampire opened a metal door at the end of the alley, and she heard several voices arguing. Sneaking closer she caught the faint stench of decaying flesh before the door closed. Whoever was behind that door didn’t mind staying around rotting corpses. That usually meant it was a monster, and fair game. An undertaker or coroner wouldn’t have set up shop in such an area, she told herself, remembering a particular embarrassing mistake she had made shortly after being called.

Using her radio she called Kit while climbing up to the roof, the brick walls providing enough handholds for a Slayer to easy scale them. She was getting excited - soon she’d fight, kill, destroy the monsters hiding there. “Kit? I’ve found a location. Smells like a lair. Decay. Several voices inside.”

“Be ready, but do not engage yet. I’m coming.” Kit’s calm and controlled voice filled her with warmth and confidence, as usual. With him she felt she could do anything. For a moment, her urge to hunt had lessened, though her excitement had not. Then the Slayer took over again, and she edged closer to a dirty skylight, peering down.

She heard the voices more clearly, thanks to her enhanced senses. The foul stench as well - and fresh blood. Someone had been busy.

“... work for him, and the Dark Lord will provide you with protection from the Slayer, and all the muggle meals you want. Defy him, and you will wish for the Slayer to kill you quickly.”

The Dark Lord? Muggles? That was a witch’s voice then. A Death Eater collaborating with, no, recruiting vampires? India started to rub some of the dirt on the skylight away so she could catch a sight of what was going on inside. She was sure she could take half a dozen vampires, even more with surprise on her side - the foul creatures rarely worked together well, and some would always try to flee when faced with the Slayer - but she wasn’t sure if she could take half a dozen vampires and a dark witch. And yet she had the urge to break through the skylight, jump down and revel in the fight.

Shuddering, she controlled herself. Kit said she needed to remain in charge, to use her feral instincts, instead of being driven by them. And she would. Slowly, using spit and her sleeve, she managed to clear a corner of the skylight. Below her, five vampires, spread around the room, some sitting on crates, others standing, all in the shadows, were staring a woman, a witch… no, a female vampire, she realized. Pale skin, black hair, and leather clothes India wasn’t allowed to wear according to Kit.

“Think on this when you huddle in fear of the Slayer, or the Watchers Council, when you sneak around to snatch a meal, always looking over your shoulder, lest you get staked.” It was meeting their gazes, and one by one, they looked away and she looked at the next one. Until the last, a male vampire.

“You talk big for a wizard’s lapdog, bitch. All promises, like a politician. And when we’ve done his dirty work, your master’ll turn on us. They always do.” The vampire, wearing a battered leather jacket and jeans that had seen better days a decade ago, snarled, its face distorting into its true demonic face. “I am no one’s bitch, and not as stupid as you think, bitch!”

The vampiress lifted an eyebrow, and smirked, which set the other off. It charged, roaring, fangs exposed, one shoulder pulling back for a strike.

“Incendio.”

India held her breath. The charging vampire stopped, staring at the flame that had appeared in the middle of its chest in horror, then burst into flames. A few seconds of screaming later it was ashes. Its killer sneered, twirled the slim wand it had revealed, and looked at the other undead.

“Let that be a lesson to you. I am no one’s bitch, as that idiot called it. The Dark Lord offers you great rewards for your service. But if you defy him…” it trailed off, then smirked. “He was lucky I felt mercyful, or he’d still be screaming, and only the rising sun would finally grant him death.”

India could see the other vampires react to that, hunching their shoulders a bit to appear less threatening, lowering their gazes. Predators cowed by a stronger one. Feral animals. The vampiress pointed at one. “You. What’s your name?”

“M-Martin,” The vampire stammered, all pretense gone.

“An owl will be bringing you your orders. Do not harm her, or you’ll pay. Fail to execute the orders, and you’ll pay. Try to flee… do you understand?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

With a wave of its wand and a cracking noise, the female vampire vanished. Apparition. India felt both regret and relief. She had wanted to fight that vampire, craved it, and yet known she would have had bad odds surviving. Vampires that old were dangerous, and that one could work magic.

The four vampires left relaxed. One even fell to its knees, shaking. Pathetic. India felt the urge to slay them again. They were weak. Weak monsters. She briefly thought about trailing the contact of the witch, but dismissed that. She couldn’t track a monster like that for days, and hope for some useful information. Standing by while it preyed on humans? Every fiber of her being rebelled at the thought.

She was moving before she realized it, her boot kicking the skylight open, breaking the frame and shattering the glass, and then she was jumping down. The vampires had reacted to the sudden noise and were looking up, and India enjoyed the way their eyes widened, right before her boots smashed into the face of ‘Martin’. The impact shattered its teeth and nose and drove the walking corpse into the floor, cracking its head. It’d take a while to recover from that.

India rolled with the impact, the undead having broken her fall already, and came up in the face of another vampire. She staked it before it could do more than raise both hands defensively. Two left. Whirling around, she charged the closest one, ducking under a wild swing, and rammed her shoulder into its chest, pushing it back and on a crate it had been sitting on earlier, before slipping her stake into its heart.

The last one standing was running in panic. Straight to the exit, not even trying to dodge or weave around the crates. Pathetic. Two thrown knives caught it in the knees, and it fell down, screaming. India stalked towards it, casually emptying a vial of holy water into the face of her first victim before it could get up again. It too started to scream, and India smiled widely.

The other one had managed to pull out one knife while scrambling back, trailing blood, and flung it at her. She didn’t even bother dodging, just caught the knife and sent it back into the vampire’s hand. The screaming turned into weeping now, and she snorted with satisfaction. It felt good, right, to make those monsters feel a smidgen of the pain they had caused to humans before she destroyed them.

Then she remembered Kit’s lesson on not to play with their enemies, and frowned. He’d be disappointed. Sighing, she quickly staked both remaining vampires, and collected her weapons. There were four corpses in the room as well. Two were at least a week old, one a few days at most, and one was fresh. A girl, barely older than India herself.

No, making the monsters suffer was right, no matter what Kit told her. As long as she was careful, she’d be fine.

*****

Hermione was sitting with Harry in the Gryffindor common room, studying the letter from her parents that she had received in the morning. Hedwig, perching on Harry’s shoulders, still glared at her for using another owl, but Hermione was sure mail carried by Harry’s snowy owl would receive quite more scrutiny than her own, despite her - by now widely known - relationship to the Boy-Who-Lived. And there were small signs of tampering, magical tampering. Not that she thought they’d be able to break the code Uncle Quentin was using. Even knowing how to decode it, it had taken her half an hour.

“That’s not good,” she muttered, covered by a privacy spell. “They have troubles getting through wards, and want us to see if we can find ways through the Death Eater wards from their kids.”

“I doubt they’ll simply tell us,” Harry said with a snort.

“And using veritaserum on them will be difficult with the auror patrols.” Hermione sighed.

“We should be glad they have not decided to use Dementors to guard us again.” Both shuddered at that reminder.

“They are probably cautious after that unsolved attack, and won’t risk using more of them,” Hermione reasoned, chewing on a quill so others would think she was doing homework.

“Small mercies when we still haven’t found a safe room to train in, with all those damned Aurors in the castle, and Umbridge walking around as if she was just one more educational decree away from reinstalling a torture chamber,” Harry grumbled. He was actually doing homework, or trying to - Hermione had finished hers already of course.

“At least she’s hounding the teachers, not the students.” Hermione wasn’t certain how long that would last though.

“So far. We still need a room to train in that’s safe, and secret. Our old room won’t do. Ron already told us he saw an Auror patrol that corridor.” Harry pushed back, frowning. Ron was currently patrolling with Lavender again. Their friend had sounded a lot happier about doing patrols than Hermione had expected, and that was due to the blonde witch. She had had to make an effort not to roll her eyes when the fashion-obsessed piece of fluff had collected Ron for the patrol the last time.

Taking another biscuit from the tray the elves had provided for them, she suddenly had an idea. “The elves.”

“What?” Harry had just returned to his home work.

“We can ask the elves about a safe room to practise in. One the Aurors don’t know. The elves know the castle in and out, and with the map and the cloak we should be able to travel safely.” Hermione was excited - this could be the break they needed. A safe base to operate out from.

“Ah… we need to make two trips then, the cloak won’t cover all three of us, not anymore. We’ve, ah, grown up some since.” Harry coughed, and Hermione blushed a bit, remembering their last trip under the cloak. It had been a close affair.

“Well, let’s go ask!”

*****

The ‘Room of Requirement’ was the answer to their needs, as Dobby had promised. And a daunting challenge to understand as well. The room could be anything one needed - duelling room, class room, common room, potions lab, library even. If they had known about that years ago… Harry Potter was sure Hermione was mourning for the time lost brewing in a bathroom, or trying to train for the tasks for the Triwizard Tournament in old class rooms. His girlfriend did vastly prefer perfect solutions to their problems over ones that were merely good enough.

And the room could even open doors to any other spot in the castle. Harry could go under the cloak to the 7th floor, and once he had entered, he could create a door to whatever secret passage Hermione and Ron were hiding in. That would make reaching the room both safer and quicker.

“Perfect.” Hermione widely smiled. Harry chuckled, which left her looking confused, and very cute, for a moment, before she pouted at him.

“So, we have a room we can train in now. Or interrogate one,” he said.

His diversion worked, Hermione quickly focused on the tasks at hand. “Kidnapping someone will work well with the room’s ability to create doors, but one of us will have to stay in the room then. That means there’d only be one to do the actual kidnapping. And Draco travels with his bodyguards…”

“Yes. I can take them though.” Harry was rather certain he could. Not as certain as he would like to be though.

“All at once? Without anyone of them running or calling for help?” Hermione put the finger right on the problem, as expected.

“Point. We might need to bring Ron in. It’s not as if we’re that much more skilled in Occlumency than him, with Remus stuck at Sirius’s house.” Harry still felt anger whenever he thought about that evil plot against his honorary uncle.

Hermione winced. “Do you think we can trust him? It’s one thing to work against Death Eaters, it’s another to work with the Slayer. Most books I found covering her portray her as the Witch Hunters’ main weapon.”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to sound him out when we’re training here.” Harry didn’t know how well that would work, but he had to try. The two of them couldn’t do this alone, and Ron was their best friend.

“It’ll set us back a bit, but it’ll allow us to prepare for the kidnapping better as well.” Hermione nodded, apparently satisfied. “I wonder how much we can adapt the room while we are using it.”

Harry pondered that, then had a thought. He focused, and a copy of the prefect’s bath appeared in the corner. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. “We can enjoy the same luxury as the prefects now, without having to do the patrols and other duties.”

Hermione smiled, then frowned. “Ron can never know of that, or he’ll never forgive us.”

“Oh, I think he likes the patrols well enough.”

“He likes Lavender well enough you mean.” Hermione snorted. Harry smiled, and pulled her in a hug.

“Well, not everyone can have the best girlfriend in the castle.” He placed a quick kiss on her lips, which turned into a longer kiss.

By the time they were ready to head back to their common room, the room had created a couch for them.

*****

Albus Dumbledore smiled at the Auror standing watch on his way to the Great Hall. “Hello John.” He let just the slightest patronizing tone slip in, and none of the frustration he felt. Spies for the Minister in his school, under the excuse of guarding the castle against a man he knew would never harm a student! All due to a plot from Voldemort. And he couldn’t do much about it, not right now, with Malfoy having the ear of the Minister and his influence growing. At least Umbridge focusing on him and ignoring Harry and the other students made sense given the circumstances, and would not raise suspicion.

But his plans had been derailed. Remus had been forced into hiding. He wouldn’t be able to teach Harry and Miss Granger and young Mister Weasley until the holidays. Nymphadora wouldn’t be able to teach them either, the risk of getting discovered as one of his supporters was too great, especially with the loss of Kingsley. He sighed, remembering his friend.

It was a vicious circle. Without having Harry’s trust he couldn’t safely contact the Council, and without the help of the Council, he couldn’t counter Cornelius’ irrational and gold-fueled fear of a coup with the fear of the Slayer. And the werewolves were no doubt now working for Voldemort, with Remus having been recalled before he could sway them into neutrality.

At least Minerva was able to neutralize the worst excesses of Umbridge. Really, inspecting the staff? He shook his head. He reached the door to the Great Hall and nodded friendly at the Auror waiting there, as if nothing was wrong with a guard at the staff entrance.

He glanced over the tables on his way to his seat. Students were as rowdy as ever, waiting for the food to appear, but he thought he saw a few students sending nervous glances at the red robes in the hall. Harry and Miss Granger were not among those, of course, even if they had far more to hide than some fire whiskey or dungbombs smuggled into the castle. Memories of his own youth and a particularly nasty hangover briefly briefly made him smile.

He once again wondered if he should not simply contact the young couple anyway, he was reasonably sure he could sway their opinion with the facts of necessity. But with Aurors and Umbridge running unchecked through his school, it was simply too risky. If he was implicated to be in cahoots with the Slayer, his reputation and influence would be unlikely to recover short of Voldemort murdering the Minister in broad daylight.

*****

“Voldemort recruiting vampires with the help of a vampire witch. Perfect.” Quentin Travers sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Slayer sitting in front of him squirmed. Good. She should feel guilty for acting so rashly, instead of informing her watcher first. Not that there was that much she could have done differently. Quentin agreed with her assessment of the situation, but it was the principle of the thing. Watchers lead, the Slayer obeyed. That was how things were done.

“We did expect such things.” Botwell was, as usual, reserved and calm. He probably would die like that, Quentin thought, unless his Slayer had died first. Then he’d likely die like a berserker, swinging and screaming in rage. He had seen that before - a watcher growing too close to a Slayer. It never ended well, but there was nothing one could do. Separating a Watcher from his or her Slayer was not something done lightly. As long as Botwell followed orders and could control his Slayer, it didn’t matter how close he was to her. And, Quentin thought cynically, the problem usually solved itself with the death of the Slayer. They didn’t last long, after all. India was already one of the longer-lived in this century, outside such exceptions as Nikki Wood. And that Slayer too had fallen in the end, to William the Bloody, even.

“We expected that monster to recruit vampires, but a vampire witch? That’s something else. It was a good decision not to attack that one, Miss Cohen. Without wizards at your side it would have likely overcome even you.”

The Slayer growled at that. It was a feral, almost inhuman sound. A sign that the Slayer was not quite human. A monster even, but one on the side of humanity. Quentin didn’t mind that. It meant he would not have to feel any guilt when sacrificing a Slayer. Should not have to, he corrected himself. It still felt wrong to send a girl to her death, but he had come to terms with what he needed to do long ago. Watchers who did not tended to die early, often taking foolhardy risks in an attempt to deal with their guilty conscience.

His voice betrayed none of his thoughts when he addressed her. “We’ll have to prepare for such an enemy. Miss Cohen, you’ll be training with Fitzburg daily, but treat him as if he was a Vampire that is immune to fire.

The Slayer nodded. Quentin continued. “Meanwhile, we’ll do our best to find out what exactly we are dealing with. I am sure there should be records of such a creature.”

“Did you hear anything from your grandniece yet?” Quentin noted a brief scowl on the Slayer’s face at that question from Botwell. He hadn’t heard of any trouble between those two, and wondered if this was a cause for concern. Botwell hadn’t mentioned anything though.

“She informed me that there were several aurors currently at the school, which hinders her attempts to prepare and gather information. They seem to focus more on the headmaster than the werewolf they are supposedly hunting.” Quentin noticed that the Slayer had perked up at that line. “From what we know, the werewolf is not a danger, and simply the victim of a political intrigue.” Judging by her pout she had gotten the message.

“Any questions?”

“No sir,” Botwell answered while his Slayer shook her head.

“Good.” The two left his office, and Quentin rubbed his chin. The Council was lucky that Voldemort seemed to be biding his time so far. But that would not last that long. They would have to be ready to strike before their enemy was acting. It wouldn’t be easy, but they would succeed. Failure was not an option.

*****


	6. Patrols

**Chapter 6: Patrols**

Harry saw the Auror - Dawlish, he thought - lean against the wall ahead, watching half a dozen stairs moving below him. The wizard looked bored, and not very observant, and it didn’t seem to be an act. Still, Harry had to be careful, even with his father’s cloak. He thought about using a distraction - maybe drop a stone on a stair below him - but that could backfire. If the Aurors thought a student was hiding from them in the castle, even before the curfew, they might check the dorms for missing students. Umbridge certainly would be eager to have a reason to inspect the dorms. That was why Harry, Ron and Hermione had hid their valuables and contraband with the help of Dobby. Although if they could frame some Slytherins for it…

No, he had to be patient, and careful. Slowly, very slowly, he stepped past the man. His rubber soles made no sound on the floor, even without silencing spells. He even held his breath, until he was around the corner. Done. A minute later he was in the corridor with the painting of the dancing trolls, and another minute later, a new door opened in the secret passage near the Gryffindor dorm, where Hermione and Ron were hiding, using the Marauder’s Map to avoid detection.

Hermione hugged him, only for a short time though, after entering, while Ron strolled in, either hiding his own relief well, or really enjoying the sneaking around. It was hard to tell.

“That went well. Stupid spies never even got close!” Ron grinned and put the map down on the table in the corner of the room before he grabbed a bottle of butterbeer Dobby had provided.

“It was a bit closer for me. Dawlish is up on the 7th floor, fortunately not near the corridor here,” Harry said.

“Probably avoiding more work. Me and Lavender never see him patrolling.” With a glance to Hermione, who had pulled out her notes and spread them out on the table, next to the snacks, Ron added, grinning: “And what’s on the lesson plan for today?”

Huffing and brushing a stray lock behind her ear, the witch answered: “It’s a training plan. That we’ll be able to ace the DADA exam is just a side benefit. The main goal is to get competent enough to fight Death Eaters. Merlin knows, we’ll not get any training from that despicable woman this year.” She sighed. “This year’s O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s Defense scores will likely be the worst ever in decades. And right when people need to be able to defend themselves more than ever.”

  
“We cannot do anything about that.” Harry stepped forward. “We have our own mission. And if things go well, they’ll be safer in the end.”

“You think the Order will be able to deal with You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters quickly then?” Ron sounded surprised.

“We know they are working on something important. So important they wouldn’t tell us,” Hermione answered him. “We can only hope whatever they are planning and preparing will work.”

Harry knew the witch didn’t think so - she had been less than impressed with the Order’s organization, attitude and roster. Harry shared her opinion. After training with the Watchers, and experiencing their dedication and resolve, the Order as a whole simply didn’t measure up. They were just too… soft. Mrs Weasley was trying to keep her children, no matter their ages, and Harry and Hermione too, of course, as far from the Order as possible. Hermione’s uncle on the other hand would have done all he could to recruit more wands for the fight, no matter how old their wielders. They’d need that sort of resolve to win this war.

“We’ll be focusing on offensive and defensive spells and tactics. Apart from the standard ones - Stunner, Piercing Curse, Cutting Curse, Explosive Curse, Bombarda - I’ve found a few that are not in the curriculum, but should serve us well,” Hermione explained. She was talking about the watchers’ area fire spells, which were very close to magical flamethrowers and firebombs, as well as several spells that served to disorient and blind and deafen monsters with enhanced senses.

“Did you find them in Sirius’s library?” Ron sounded very interested.

Hermione shook her head. “No, I acquired a few tomes with non-standard spells. The Ministry probably doesn’t want anyone to learn those.” She sounded almost as offended at that notion - even though she had gotten those spells from the Watchers - as at the idea of vampires preying on humans without wizards intervening. Almost. Harry didn’t like lying to Ron, even by omission - what Hermione had said was the truth, if misleading - but it couldn’t be helped.

“Let’s get started then!” Harry drew his wand and turned towards the dummies lined up on the back wall. “Stunners first.” They’d need those spells, for the kidnapping, though he wouldn’t say that yet. Not until they had sounded Ron out a bit more.

The three spent two hours casting stunners while standing, running, jumping and crawling on the floor. Mostly standing and crawling at the end - it had been an exhausting training session. Ron, to his credit, had been grumbling and complaining for a lot of it, but had kept training.

“Curfew is in a few minutes,” Hermione stated, using her wand to cast a few cleaning charms on herself and her friends. Harry still felt like he needed a shower, even though he knew he was clean. “Do we head back directly to the dorm, or to a corridor next to it?”

“Directly back I think. They might be watching the dorm entrance, to see who was out, and wonder what we have been doing.” Harry passed two big glasses of water to Hermione and Ron and filled one for himself with a pitcher.

“We could enter the library next time, and head back from there.” Hermione smiled gratefully at him, and emptied her glass. A few drops ran down her chin, and Harry couldn’t help but staring at them. His girlfriend usually wasn’t a messy drinker or eater.

Ron nodded. “Everyone would believe you’d made us study.”

Hermione just grinned at that - she was far more exhausted than he had thought. Harry realized that this might not be the best moment to sound Ron out.

“Say, Ron, did you ever hear of the Slayer?” Hermione asked before Harry could propose to head back right now.

“The Slayer? I’ve heard the stories of course. The twins used to frighten me with tales of the Witch Hunter’s Monster coming after a wizard family, killing them one by one, no matter what they did, no matter where they fled to, down to to the babies...” He trailed off with a guilty glance at Harry, who was frowning - if not for the reason Ron thought. If that was what wizards thought of the Slayer, then they’d have real trouble trying to get help. Even from Ron.

“Well, I doubt those stories are true. But I found out she exists.”

Of course the girl who was willing to oppose the entire Magical World over house elves would not let a minor thing like the Slayer’s reputation as a mass murderer deter her from her chosen course of action. Harry was both proud of and slightly worried for her.

“What?” Ron’s eyes shot open. If the matter were not so serious, Harry would have laughed at the sight.

“Yes. She’s a historical figure. But according to my sources, she was mainly hunting Dark Wizards and monsters, to protect muggles. She wasn’t going just after every wizard,” Hermione stated primly. Harry knew she wasn’t so sure about that - they hadn’t seen the original records of the time when the Statute of Secrecy was formed and the Slayer quit the Magical World.

“Blimey! Would be nice to have her around to go after You-Know-Who then!” Ron snorted. “Bet he’d be surprised by a monster who cannot be killed!”

“She’d have to find him first,” Harry threw in. This might just work out, he thought.

“She can find anyone she wants. She tracked down every member of a family she was after, remember?” Harry wished Ron’s claim was true. Life would be so much easier.

“I think that’s hyperbole.” Hermione huffed. “And Voldemort is likely good at hiding, even from the Slayer. So, she’d need help finding him.”

“Too bad. Only the Death Eaters know, and they are not telling.” Ron sounded disappointed, but Harry wasn’t sure he was taking the topic that seriously. Or he was just as exhausted as Harry felt. It was a good opening, but Harry wasn’t sure they should mention their plans for Malfoy right away. He hoped Hermione shared his opinion.

“I’d work with her, if it was against Voldemort.” Harry emptied his own glass.

“I’d work with everyone against Voldemort. Well, not with Malfoy. Or with Slytherins,” Ron answered, munching on the last sandwich Dobby had had prepared.

“We should head back now.” Hermione did not push further, to Harry’s relief.

*****

India Cohen was a happy Slayer. She was hunting each night, and killing each night. The Council had decided that if vampires were being recruited by Voldemort, then denying him those resources was a priority. With so many Watchers, even Wizard Watchers, focusing on finding vampires, she was busy every night. Almost as if it was a hellmouth.

And not only that, but because many vampires preyed on clubbers, she got to dress up to better fit in with the crowd. And, in many clubs, to get inside without breaking in or breaking the bouncer. She was currently wearing a short, short cocktail dress and matching heels. Like in that magazine she had bought, nominally to keep her cover, a few weeks ago. Kit had tried not to stare, then had tried to hide his staring, but she was the Slayer, nothing escaped her. Not even her Watcher.

She was currently in a nightclub in London. Quite glamorous, even if the music was a bit too loud for her taste. She allowed herself to bask in the attention of the other guests while she walked from the bar to the dance floor. Now if Kit was with her this would be perfect - no men and boys would be hitting on her, and maybe she’d get less angry glares from the girls.

Before she could dance and show off what a Slayer’s moves were like, she felt a vampire’s presence. Turning around it didn’t take her long to spot the monster: A pale man wearing a cheap suit, hitting on a girl in the corner. India sauntered over, a smile plastered on her face even though she wanted to charge at the creature and stake it right away. But she couldn’t be the hunter right now, she had to be the bait.

Smiling innocently, she greeted the vampire, ignoring the girl. “Hi!” She had drunk some liquor, so her breath would smell accordingly, even if the alcohol didn’t affect her as it would a normal human. But as Kit had explained, it would make the vampire think she was easy. That, and her good looks - she was purely objective here, not vain - had to be enough to make the monster change its objective. She giggled, remembering how flustered her Watcher had seemed when she had asked if he was experienced with easy girls. The monster thought it was because of its joke. The girl left in a huff, not knowing her life had just been saved.

India didn’t feel like letting the monster paw her for a bit to keep her cover, so she drew a pack of cigarettes from her purse. “Wanna step outside for a smoke? I need a bit of fresh air, the world’s a bit spinning.”

It jumped at what it thought was a chance to feed away from prying eyes. India had to clench her teeth some when it slung an arm around her on the way out. She wanted to rip it off right then and there and beat the creature to death with it.

They passed the bouncer, who slightly shook his head, only seeing a drunk girl and an older guy. India wondered if once she and Kit were a couple, they’d draw the same looks. Her Watcher was not that much older than her, after all. Not that she’d care - odds are, they’d die together anyway.

The vampire led her into the next side alley. As soon as the Slayer saw there were no witnesses, she slammed the creature against the wall so hard its head bounced back and left a dent in the bricks. Two swift kicks broke its kneecaps, a few more broke bones and ribs and cartilage.

When she stopped she was holding a broken mass of undead meat. “Have you heard of a Dark Lord?” She had to hit it a few more times, twisting a few broken bones sticking out of its skin, until it was answering.

“N-no…” It had some difficulty speaking with smashed teeth and split lips, and a broken nose. India didn’t care.

“Have you seen a witch lately? Or a female vampire that can apparate?”

“Huh?”

India asked a few more times, hit it some more, until she was satisfied that it really didn’t know anything. A stake shut up its whimpers and left a pile of ashes. She made sure her dress hadn’t gotten blood on it and walked away to meet with Kit.

There he was, and in a nicer car, to fit better in with the clubbing crowd. India slid into the seat next to him, and had to hide her smile at the way his eyes ran up her legs, more slowly than was needed to check for injuries.

“Good work. The next likely hunting spot we have found is a bit away.” He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was not quite as calm and collected as it usually was.

Praise, and the right kind of attention from her Watcher. India was a happy Slayer indeed.

*****

Hermione huffed in frustration and closed the book she was reading in the Gryffindor common room. The books she had gotten from Sirius on Occlumency were not as helpful as she had hoped. They explained the theory well, and even had descriptions of the mental exercises needed to build up one’s mind’s resistance to intrusion, but they really needed a tutor, or teacher. But the only teachers she’d trust were Watchers. And they’d not be able to get help from them until the holidays, which were still almost two months away. At least Lupin had added notes that explained the process better.

In the last few weeks they - Harry, Ron and herself - had made quite the progress in their training. Hermione was proud of how far they had come, and she was sure they would be able to easily handle any student at the castle, even if they still had a long way to go. But without a means to protect their minds, all that was less useful than it should be.

So far they hadn’t had troubles. Avoiding the eyes of suspect wizards and witches had been enough, even though Snape had seemed to harbor some suspicions, but should anything happen to those “proper wizards” from House Slytherin, who were sucking up to Umbridge, they’d need a better defense.

Umbridge… the toad-like witch was still making trouble. Not for herself or Harry, fortunately, and Ron dodged her well enough. But she was spewing her bigotry about werewolves and other non-human species in class instead of teaching the students what they needed to pass their defense O.W.L. exam. Or what they needed to defend themselves from an attack. All she did was trying to make them into meek, weak sheep who depended on the Ministry for protection.

As if Aurors could protect them - or anyone. Certainly not those idiots still roaming the castle! What the three of them, especially Harry, had observed while sneaking around had shattered whatever illusions they had had about Aurors being the elite of Wizarding Britain. Hermione wasn’t sure how those idiots had passed the kind of Auror entrance exam Tonks had told them about. She hoped that the competent Aurors were working on more crucial cases and that the ones at Hogwarts were those who couldn’t be trusted with anything important.

But they were at Hogwarts, and they could be trouble, should they or Umbridge find a reason. That despicable witch was already tightening the Ministry’s hold on the school in her search for ‘liars and dissidents’, but she was too stupid to realize that her clumsy efforts actually created exactly the kind of people she hunted. Her Educational Decrees were travesties!

Hermione glanced at her book again. On the other hand, those mental exercises had shown some effect. Harry had had less nightmares, or so he claimed, since he had started. Hermione wasn’t sure if that was a statistically significant sample, but it certainly had helped her boyfriend. Maybe it would be enough. It certainly would be better if they could tell Ron about their last secret sooner rather than later - he’d be angry enough for hiding that from him, Hermione knew.

*****

Ron caught himself whistling on the way down from his dorm, and stopped at once. It would not do to show that he was looking forward to his patrol. His brothers would never let him forget it, should he actually appear to like being a prefect. Or, worse, take it seriously. Or, even worse, they might notice that he liked being a prefect with Lavender Brown. The teasing that would cause… He shook his head, then sighed theatrically when he entered the common room. “I’m off to patrol.” Harry and Hermione, sitting so close together the girl would be more comfortable if she simply sat down in his friend’s lap, nodded, making some sympathetic noises.

Ron stepped through the door, and then leaned against the wall next to the portrait. Lavender tended to run a bit late. He could have waited for her inside, but he had grown to like waiting outside. It was a time to gather his thoughts, a bit of privacy he rarely got in Hogwarts, or back home, with his siblings.

This year certainly was turning out to be unlike the years before. Or too much like them, in a way. He liked training with Harry and Hermione, even if seeing them kissing was still a bit unsettling. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of an outsider whenever they did that. Occlumency supposedly helped with that, but he felt his prefect duties helped more. His duties with Lavender, to be precise. The girl really wasn’t like Hermione had said she was like. Or something like that. Just because she cared about her appearance didn’t make her shallow. Not that he’d have told Hermione that - the girl would likely see it as a dig at her own appearance.

Lavender told him Hermione was insecure about her looks, even after the Yule Ball, and Ron had to agree that it made sense. He might even have had a hand in that, if he was honest with himself. ‘Hermione, you are a girl!’ wouldn’t have done wonders for her self-esteem. He winced at the memory, not even a year old yet. Not one of his finest moments. Not one of his finest years, to be honest, last year. Things had improved though. With and for his friends. Harry was good for Hermione, anyone could see that. Lavender had told him she had become more tolerant in their dorm. Ron wasn’t sure if that was simply an effect of Hermione focusing on more important matters than the antics of students, but he hadn’t told Lavender that.

“Ron! There you are!” Lavender had stopped asking him why he preferred to wait outside the dorm a week ago. She still liked to remind him that he could wait inside, but in a nice way. So unlike his family.

“Here I am. Ready for our patrol?” He pushed off the wall, and straightened.

“Yes.” Lavender had her hands folded behind her back and was smiling at him. Ron suddenly noticed that she had redone her makeup even though it was a late patrol - by the time they’d be back, the others would be asleep already. Or at least in bed. He stopped that train of thoughts before it got derailed.

“Let’s go then. How was your day?”

“Oh, it was great! Parvati heard from her sister while studying for Flitwick’s assignment that Marietta had a rant about Hermione, and Lovegood asked her if she was mad about Hermione beating her twice now - in academics, and in love.”

“Really?” It wasn’t that Ron was interested in gossip, but… well, the things one heard about fellow students…

“Really!”

They started their tour.

*****

It was near the end of their patrol that they found trouble. Or rather, trouble found them. If not for the training he had gone through, especially Harry’s idea of fighting in darkness or with only a dim light as illumination, Ron would not have seen the movement in the shadows of the stairs leading to the library. If not for Hermione’s insane training schedule, he might not have been fast enough to react.

But he had, and was. His wand had snapped up and he had cast a Shield Charm before he had realized that he was under attack. When two hexes splashed against his shield he was already moving in front of Lavender, catching the one aimed at her as well. And the flashes from the colliding spells provided enough light for him to see where the hidden attackers were. Then it was like in training. He sent out stunners while moving to his left, to flank them. Lavender was shrieking with surprise and fear, though, where Hermione or Harry would have been casting already. It didn’t matter. One of their enemies was down already, the next was hit with a stunner while another hex was stopped by Ron’s shield, and the third didn’t manage to cast again before he fell to the ground, unconscious as well.

“Lumos.” Ron’s spell confirmed what he had strongly suspected from the glimpses he had seen during the short fight. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

“What…” Lavender was staring, at him, he realized, as much as at the three students on the floor.

“Are you ok?” She nodded, still staring open-mouthed. But she had her wand out.

“Attacking a prefect patrol. That should earn them detention.” Ron didn’t expect anything to come from it, not for those three. Snape would protect them. Or Umbridge, he realized. Maybe this was a plot? He knew Umbridge didn’t like him, since he was Harry’s friend, and of course his Dad’s son. Maybe he should leave, and ignore the situation. A glance at Lavender ended that. She’d never keep that quiet. The next day, half of Hogwarts would have heard of it.

“Go fetch McGonagall.” To his surprise, she simply nodded, and then ran off towards the teacher’s quarters.

A few minutes later, Lavender returned, with a more than slightly irate-looking deputy Headmistress. Snape hadn’t turned up, so he probably hadn’t been in on this, Ron realized - usually the foul git was just around the corner when Malfoy tried something, ready to ruin a Gryffindor’s day.

“What happened here, Mister Weasley?” Ron was sure Lavender would have told her what had happened already, twice probably, but the tone of his head of house didn’t allow any backtalk. Kind of like his mum.

“Well, we were on patrol when suddenly, hexes flew at us from this corner.” He stepped a bit back. “We were around here. I cast a shield and stopped the hexes, and stunned them. I didn’t know who they were until after the fact.”

“You stunned those three, Mister Weasley?” McGonagall sounded as if she doubted him.

“Oh, he did! He moved so quickly, I didn’t have time to react until it was over already!” Lavender was positively gushing now - she was obviously over her shock. And the way she was beaming at him made Ron feel like he was a head taller.

“Very well. I’ll take it from here. Do not speak of this until I give you permission. Do you understand?” She glared at both of them, as if they had done something wrong! Still, Ron nodded. He didn’t want to make trouble for his friends - their training was more important than some school stuff. It seemed to satisfy the old witch. “Return to your dorm then.”

Ron had some trouble convincing Lavender not to tell everyone what had happened. The witch was just too excited. He grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down some and make her listen to him, and suddenly they were staring at each other, and she had stopped talking.

“Ah…” He swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Lavender…” he didn’t manage to continue, since at that moment she bent forward and kissed him. On the lips.

“Thank you, Ron, you saved me!” He managed to nod in response.

By the time they reached the dorms, he still was trying to figure out if that kiss had just been a thank you for him saving her, or if it meant something more. Girls were confusing.

*****

The day after ‘Malfoy’s Ambush’ Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron in the library. Protected by privacy spells they appeared to do homework, but actually were exercising Occlumency - or, without anyone able to test them, what they hoped was Occlumency - and planning. Hermione had persuaded her two friends, with some trouble though, to skip the next training session, maybe even the next three sessions, just in case Umbridge, Snape or the Aurors decided to harass the three. She wasn’t altogether unhappy about that, since she considered Occlumency more important than Defense, although Harry disagreed. Still, she was not that happy about the reason for this change of schedule.

“Thanks to Lavender the whole school now knows Ron’s far more skilled than they thought, and will suspect the same of us.” It would have been impressive how fast that piece of fluff managed to spread the news, if not for the consequences, Hermione thought.

Ron was about to defend his fellow prefect - and soon to be girlfriend, if Hermione had correctly interpreted Lavender whispering to Parvati, followed by the latter’s squeal of glee - when Harry stepped in to calm the waters. “It’s not a big problem. Apart from Malfoy and his idiot minions, I think everyone was aware we were not exactly average students since our first year.”

“That’s true.” Hermione didn’t like it, but she had to admit he had a point. Even though she was certain that many students didn’t know exactly what they had done, and what they could do. Though that was still the case, mostly. “We still need to be more cautious.”

“That’s why we’re here, and not elsewhere.” Ron sounded quite happy. No surprise there, she thought, he had impressed the school, and especially little miss makeup. “But you know, I’ve been thinking…”

That almost begged for a snarky remark, but Hermione was more mature than that. Barely. Besides, it would have been an old joke. “Yes?”

“If I hadn’t been there, then they would have hit Lavender and whoever she was with. Who knows what they had planned.” Ron sounded serious, and Hermione was glad she hadn’t let her annoyance out. He was right too - they were no children anymore, and neither were Malfoy and his friends. And with Voldemort back from the dead and their parents following that monster again, the young witch was sure that whatever the children of Death Eaters planned, it was no mere prank. “I’d like to train her too.” What? Hermione’s head whipped around to stare at her friend, and he quickly held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Not with us, not for that. But I’d like it if she was able to defend herself from Slytherins. And pass her DADA exams.”

Oh, yes, the exams. On one hand, Hermione was looking forward to Umbridge being revealed as the utter failure as a teacher that she was. On the other hand, it would cost the students so much, and as Snape proved each year, it would not have to have consequences anyway. To think that those two sick individuals were allowed to harm, even destroy the futures of so many children…

“You’re right, but even if we could spare the time, we can’t risk training her, or others. Umbridge and the aurors would be all over us.” Harry leaned back, frustration clear on his face.

“If only we could get rid of her and replace her with a competent teacher. The O.W.L.s will be a catastrophe.” Hermione frowned. “I can’t believe that no one is doing anything about that! Doesn’t anyone care about the O.W.L.s? They decide a witch’s future!”

“I am not sure they realize what is happening. We’ve had so many different DADA teachers, one per year, and few are as organized as you are.” Harry put his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “I am sure the Ravenclaws at least are studying on their own.”

“We could at least try to make the Gryffindors study independently. That would help Lavender too.” If everyone pitched in, Hermione was sure her fellow students could learn enough to do well at the O.W.L.s, if they started now. N.E.W.T.s too.

“They’d expect us to be involved as well.”

Harry was right, Hermione realized at once. If she, the stray Ravenclaw in Gryffindor, as Parvati had called her once, was not involved in such a project - or was not leading it, she admitted - the rest would be wondering what exactly she was involved in. Or if she wanted them to fail. Such a backlash, at this point, with Voldemort returned, would be worse than in the year before.

“We can’t just do nothing!” Hermione ran her hands through her hair. Compared to Lavender’s curls her mane was still looking too frizzled and bushy. But she had other, more important concerns than cosmetic charms.

“If we do something, Umbridge will focus on us, again.” Harry sounded as frustrated as she felt, and this time she tried to console him.

“If we do not do anything, who will?” Hermione was close to ranting about the wizards being sheep, when Ron spoke up.

“Why don’t we spread that worry about the exams? If everyone is frustrated, they cannot pin it on us, and something might be done about that toad.” Hermione had given up trying to correct Ron about not calling Snape ‘Professor Snape’, and she had not even started to correct him about that stupid witch posing as a teacher.

“We have to be very careful though. Malfoy and his ilk will try to blame us even without proof. And Snape will support him.” Not for the first time Hermione wished she could do something about that foul little bigot and his equally foul protector.

“If Lavender was on the job, the whole school would be in the know a day later.” Harry laughed. He stopped laughing when Hermione and Ron stared at him. “Are you serious?”

They were. A day later, the school was in an uproar. A week later, the Daily Prophet, to the surprise of not a few, had taken up the story and parents started to get vocal about the appalling quality of this year’s defense lessons.

*****

It was a happy Dumbledore that sat down to read the Daily Prophet that day. He hadn’t lost his influence completely, after all. When he had heard of the latest rumors spreading among the students - quite factual ones, in this case, for a change, Miss Granger was quite thorough - he had contacted one of his remaining friends at the Prophet, and given his side of the whole debacle, how he had had a teacher hired, but who had been arrested, on a pretext, with nothing coming of it later, to be replaced with Madam Umbridge. That Cornelius had arranged that so he could secure a well-paid job for his undersecretary, probably as a bribe, was something his friend had come up with on his own. Dumbledore had pulled a few more strings to slip this by the Prophet’s editor in chief, who was in Malfoy’s purse, and now Cornelius and dear Dolores were facing the wrath of concerned parents from all over Britain. A job well done, if he said so himself.

The incident with young Malfoy had been a potential problem, but Minerva had handled that well, despite all her complaining about the students again pushing her into committing crimes. Officially, nothing had happened that night. No reports were filed, no complaints made. He had to keep Severus in line, of course - that man’s hatred of Harry and his friends was becoming an issue. The students all knew what had happened, but as long as Draco would not say anything - and a few spells had ensured that - no one could do anything about it. And it showed Harry and his friends had been training, and doing well. That calmed some of his worries about their security, with Aurors of questionable morals and loyalty at Hogwarts.

More cause for concerns though were young Malfoy’s plans for Miss Brown. A few compulsion charms - and he was getting rather free with them, he realized, but what other choice was there in this situation? - removed that particular danger from the school, at least for the time being. He’d have to end the charms before the young Slytherin returned home over the holidays. And of course, the ease of his intrusion into the boy’s mind and memories drove the urgency of providing Harry and his friends with better defenses home.

If only Remus was not a wanted man - or werewolf - still. He would have no real trouble finding a competent teacher now, once Dolores was gone, but one Harry and Miss Granger would trust? It couldn’t be helped, the children would have to spend the holidays working hard to shore up their mental defenses, instead of taking a well-deserved rest from schoolwork and other concerns.

But, he thought, popping a lemon drop into his mouth and petting Fawkes, things were looking up. There hadn’t been an attempt at the prophecy either so far.

*****

Harry felt rather nervous. He had felt nervous since weeks, thinking of this moment. To be honest, he had almost been glad that they had not been able to get an Occlumency teacher, it had served as an excuse to stall with this particular revelation.

He and Hermione, who was nervous herself, as he knew, were back in the Room of Requirement, facing Ron. Who was starting to look nervous himself, now that Harry took a closer look. Maybe it was infectious. Or he had picked up on their nervosity. But Hermione had been right, they had to go forward, sooner or later time would run out. Even if Voldemort was still hiding he was surely preparing for another war, and gathering strength.

“So…” he trailed off. “I, we, had hoped we had Occlumency training by this time, but it can’t be helped. There’s one more thing you need to know, Ron.” Hermione nodded, biting her lip. Some Gryffindors we are, Harry thought.

Ron looked at them, now very nervous. “Yes?” Though nervous was good. It was better than anger at being kept in the dark, again.

Harry took a deep breath. “Remember our talk about the Slayer?”

“Yes?”

“We are working with her against Voldemort.”

“What!?”

  
*****


	7. Christmas Revelations

**Chapter 7: Christmas Revelations**

Ron looked around as if he expected the Slayer to jump out of the shadows. Hermione Granger didn’t sigh though, even if she felt like it - and, on second thought, it was not that implausible to suspect.

“Is this a joke?” Ron looked at her and Harry with a mixture of hope and desperation. He probably had never wanted to be pranked as much as right now.

“No, Ron, it’s no joke.” Harry put a hand on their friend’s shoulder. “Remember when the Order couldn’t find me, after the attack on my relatives? I was staying with the Slayer then.”

Ron was gaping at him. Hermione sighed. “It started with a visit from my great-uncle.” Ron slowly turned his head towards her. “My great-uncle visited me shortly after I had returned home. He had read the Daily Prophet, and the slander against Harry, and wanted to know what had happened.”

“You’ve got a wizard in your family?”

“He’s not a wizard, he’s a Watcher. One of the men and women who guide, advise and direct the Slayer,” Hermione started to explain.

“Her great-uncle tells the Slayer who and what to kill.” Harry wasn’t helping. Judging by the look Ron shot at Hermione, she had just become scarier than a Dementor. She stepped on Harry’s foot while she smiled at their friend.

“My great-uncle is a member of the Watchers Council. They train the Slayer and support her in her battle against the forces of darkness. She hunts vampires, demons, and dark wizards.”

“Yes, she killed the two Dementors that had attacked my relatives. Brought back their cloaks, nothing else was left,” Harry added.

“She killed Dementors?” Ron’s voice rose an octave.

“Yes. She can kill anything according to the recordings of the Council. But she’s a nice girl. She won’t kill without a good reason.” Hermione stressed that.

“And she’s hunting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But she needs help. Our help. Your help,” Harry chimed in again. Hermione would have felt bad for Ron getting double-teamed, but he had grown up with the twins. He should be used to that.

“Why would the Slayer need help? No one can stop her. No one can escape her!”

“That’s not exactly true, Ron.” Hermione sighed. “Sit down, this will take a while.” Ron sat down on one of the chairs the Room provided.

“The world is older than you know...”

*****

Ron Weasley was floored after Hermione’s explanation. To think there were so many demons and vampires around, preying on muggles! He had never known about that. It was so much to take in. Why didn’t the aurors go after the vampires for threatening the Statute of Secrecy? Or were they not allowed because that was the Slayer’s duty? He shook his head. No, he had to focus on the important things: Hermione’s uncle commanded the Slayer. The Slayer was a girl their age. She could kill Dementors. She was training with Harry and Hermione. His friends were working with the Slayer against Voldemort. And they wanted him to help…

“But why does the Slayer need your help?” Ron still didn’t understand that. Nothing could stop the Slayer, after all.

“Voldemort and his Death Eaters are hiding behind wards. We need to find out where those Death Eater mansions are, and how to pass through the wards quickly enough so they cannot flee or call for help.” Hermione had that expression on her face she usually wore when she was helping him with homework. Slight, but soon to be growing annoyance.

This was not the time to yank her chain and play dumb, Ron decided. Even if he still had trouble accepting that the Slayer needed any help. “So… what can we do then?”

Ron didn’t think he was a weak wizard, but he was no curse-breaker. And neither was Harry. Hermione… he wasn’t sure about her. Give her a book and a week, and she might be able to crack any ward. He didn’t even consider not helping. He trusted his friends, and he already had agreed to fight, and kill, Death Eaters. He would not let them down. Not again, part of him added. The Slayer might be scary, but she was on their side, at least. He hoped she’d remember that, and not start killing every wizard.

“We’re planning to interrogate the Death Eaters’ children at school.” Harry grinned slightly. “Kidnap them, pour veritaserum into them, and obliviate them afterwards.”

Ron knew that wouldn’t be that hard, not with their training, as his confrontation with Malfoy had shown, but… there were the Aurors to consider. “How long would that take?”

“That’s hard to say. We do not know how much the students here know, and how many there are. We have, of course, a few names already, from Voldemort’s resurrection,” Hermione started to explain, then looked guilty when Harry flinched a bit and rubbed his arm - the arm Ron knew had been cut by Pettigrew.

“I meant: how long would the interrogation take? I know the Auror’s schedules pretty well by now.” Or lack thereof, Ron knew. Not all of the Aurors at Hogwarts were too diligent in the execution of their duties.

“I would say at most 30 minutes to an hour - any longer and covering up their absence, and their memories, becomes too hard in my opinion,” Harry said.

“Should be enough to find out everything Malfoy knows. Including hair care.” Ron saw Hermione roll her eyes and Harry grin, and smiled. He needed those little jokes. They made him think about how things were, and should be, and not about what would be. And he thought his friends needed them too. “So… we go after Malfoy?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not yet. After his ambush failed, he’ll be under scrutiny from the teachers. They’ll want to make sure he doesn’t try anything else.”

“And Snape will want to protect him,” Harry added, sneering. Ron nodded - that foul git would likely help Malfoy do anything he wanted.

“So…” Hermione continued as if she had not heard Harry. Although she had not corrected him about ‘Professor Snape’, which was a good thing in Ron’s opinion, “... we will focus first on training, and studying wards so we will know what to ask.”

Ron groaned. Studying! And with Hermione more driven than before the exams. At least with his prefect duties, he’d have an excuse to get out of reading too much. Then he remembered that they were in their O.W.L. year, and shivered. Come May, he’d be dead from all the studying! Unless a Death Eater killed him first, of course.

*****

“If that’s all then this staff meeting is concluded.” Albus Dumbledore kept smiling politely while his co-workers and Dolores Umbridge filed out of his office. Only when the door closed behind Minerva did he allow himself to chuckle with satisfaction. Two weeks of concerned parents, many of them rich, pressuring the Minister, a few well-worded and well-placed statements of his seconded by the examiners of the Ministry, and all educational decrees had been repealed. Madam Umbridge was effectively neutralized. She would be gone by the end of term too, until then she would be teaching, if one could call her lessons that, but Emmeline Vance would replace her next term.

Until then the students would have to make an effort themselves, but as far as he could tell, that was coming along nicely, considering that Harry and Miss Granger had not been as active in teaching and tutoring as they would have been without their extracurricular interests. Even Severus had not made too much of a fuss about not getting chosen as Dolores’s replacement as he usually did at the start of each year - probably due to him being able to tutor his House in Defense. Albus made a mental note to remind his friend that he should not be too effective in his tutoring - there was no need to teach combat spells to those who’d follow Voldemort if given the chance. Sometimes his spy was a bit too effective for their goals. On the other hand, Albus would be able to use this opportunity to help Harry and his friends train, which would help him gain their trust again. In addition to that Minerva was adamant about making sure her lions would be able to defend themselves, after he had shared his concerns about what young Malfoy may have had planned. Not that he admitted that he knew exactly what the Slytherin had had in mind.

Now if only his efforts to clear Remus’s name would be progressing as well… And Kingsley’s murderer had still not been found. At least the ridiculous notion that he had committed suicide had been dismissed by Amelia with all the scorn that deserved.

*****

The vampire was thrown against the wall with so much force, the plaster cracked and peeled off. It blinked, stunned despite its undead nature. Before it could recover, India was on it, driving her fist into its stomach, folding it almost like a jackknife, then kicked its head with her knee, shattering teeth and jaw. Once more its head was smashed against the wall. She jumped straight up, then her left leg shot forward, her heel ramming straight into the monster’s forehead, and the wall got pounded a third time by undead skull.

India flipped over, landed on her feet in a guard position, and frowned briefly. She had hoped to smash the head and dust the undead with that kick, but it looked she was not strong enough. Yet. Sighing with disappointment despite the thrill of the fight, she staked the broken demon. While its ashes fell down she turned around in the dinky basement in the East End. Four demons dead, three vampires and one Polgara Demon.

Kit looked up from where he was sifting through the possessions of that group, and smiled at her. “Good work, India.” She returned the smile, happy at his approval, and walked over to the table he was sitting at.

Sitting down on the table she pulled one leg up and propped her head up on her knee, peering at the papers he was rifling through. “Anything interesting?”

To her disappointment he shook his head. “No, nothing that would indicate this group has been contacted by Voldemort. But…” He held up a small book of matches.

“Dennis’ Pub?” India was briefly puzzled, then smiled. “Demon bar?”

Kit nodded. “Possibly. We’ll find out.” He turned his head towards the stairs that led into this den of demons, and to the slender young wizard standing there. “Anything on your side?”

Fitzburg shook his head. “Nothing magical around here.”

India didn’t like an outsider intruding on her and her watcher, but she accepted that even she needed magic support in case the witch vampire would turn up. And Fitzburg was a better choice than Granger, for obvious reasons.

“Let’s go then!” India all but jumped off the table, anticipation filling her. A demon bar would be full of monsters she could fight and kill. And Kit would approve - she and her watcher had spent the last few weeks teaching the British demon population the wisdom of staying out of the brewing wizard civil war, if not out of the country altogether. She still craved killing dark wizards, but until the Watcher wizards surveilling Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade reported that the Death Eaters had started to relax their security and were slumming again, this was all she could do, according to Mister Travers.

“Yes, let’s.” Fitzburg smiled at her, though patronizingly, as if she was a child and not the Slayer. She almost glared at him, but then she caught the look Kit gave him and she smiled instead. It might be just protectiveness, but she thought she had seen some jealousy there.

*****

Roselyn stood on a roof overlooking Diagon Alley, hidden in the shadows of a massive chimney. It had been built back when floo travel had just been invented and such large smokestacks had been needed to allow larger wizards to use it. Nowadays it offered her a perfect vantage spot. She longed to hunt, but she knew the Aurors were still out and about, some openly patrolling the alley, others lying in wait. The death of Shacklebolt and Greyback, as well as the disappearance - and, as Voldemort had confirmed, death - of Carrow had spooked the Ministry, and the most Malfoy had achieved had been to cast suspicion for both deaths on Lupin. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the increased patrols.

Not that Roselyn thought the Aurors would be able to stop her, but they might spot her, and Voldemort would know of her presence in the alley. She was not ready for that particular confrontation. Yet. Sighing, she glided over the shingles, passing through the boundaries into muggle London.

An hour later she was standing in front of Dennis’ Pub. Or rather, the ruins left of the building. She jumped over the barriers the muggle authorities had erected to warn curious children off, and stepped inside the remains of the pub. It was evident that someone had burned it down. Given the usual fire wards on such pubs, to handle some of the more volatile customers, that meant magic. She still checked with her wand, to be sure.

Magic meant wizards. But which ones? Not the Ministry’s. Malfoy would have known; the Aurors did nothing without permission and paperwork. Dumbledore’s Order was a possibility, but… a flick of her wand confirmed what her nose told her: A lot of blood had been spilled here. That didn’t seem to be their style. Even Death Eaters often went for less bloody killings, unless it was to send a message. That left the Watchers. According to her surviving contacts, the Watchers had started a purge recently, hunting down demons all over Britain. Supposedly even the Slayer was present.

The sound of broken cinder blocks falling down made her whirl around and retreat into the nearest shadow.

“Ow! I scraped my knee.”

“Don’t be a baby, Jim.”

“It’s not your knee.”

“Shut up and come on.”

Human voices. And the sweet smell of blood, Fresh blood. Roselyn’s nostrils flared and she had to make an effort to keep from showing her true face. Two young men climbed over the lowest wall. She smelled alcohol, cheap one, on their breath. Clothes were not too expensive. Was it a bet, a dare, or the hope for loot that brought them here? Or simply a drunken whimsy, the desire to explore a bar they hadn’t been able to enter until it and its muggle-repelling wards had been destroyed?

It didn’t matter. They were here, and she was here. And she was hungry.

“Hello boys...” Her whispered greeting made them turn around, alerted. The sight of her made them relax, as she had expected.

“Wow.” One of them started at her as if struck. The other was stammering something about having heard something and wanted to check it out in case someone needed help. She licked her lips. Dumb and drunk - perfect. She stalked closer, smiling, and reached out.

The babbling one was silenced with a blow to the stomach that had him retching while she grabbed the other’s head and pressed his mouth shut. Then she showed her true face, and his eyes widened with delicious fear. She bit into his neck and drank until he stopped struggling and went limp, then died in her arms. A spell transfigured the corpse into a stick, which another spell burned down.

Then she picked the other one up and apparated out. She could use a minion.

*****

Quentin Travers studied Hermione’s latest report. Aurors were hampering her efforts at reconnaissance, but she was positive she and her friends could find a way to interrogate selected children of Death Eaters, once the scrutiny due to an incident had let up some. They had not made as much progress at learning Occlumency as she had wanted, but they had recruited their best friend, Ron Weasley. Quentin frowned. That one was a pureblood, and therefore a security risk. Friendship was one thing, but blood would tell. That boy had abandoned Hermione and Harry once already, over a tournament. He briefly considered telling them to break off contact and obliviate the wizard, but dismissed that thought. His grandniece was as loyal as she was stubborn, and she’d not take well to such a proposal.

Leaning back, he folded his hands on his stomach. He could afford to wait. Maybe the young man would die in the coming conflict. Such a loss would certainly harden Hermione’s resolve, and motivate her further. The best Watchers were those who had lost a friend or loved one to the evil they were fighting. They knew the price of failure, and were willing to go the extra mile to accomplish their task. He knew that from painful personal experience.

He read further. Names of the Aurors in Hogwarts, as well as an impression on their skills and views. More names of suspected future followers of Voldemort among the students. It was a long list. He stood up and walked to the window - reinforced security glass, of course - to look at the street below him. The sun was setting already, the nights were getting longer. Vampires would have an easier time hunting. Two months until Christmas. He had hoped to have the matter settled by then, but Voldemort was not cooperating. Instead of striking out he was hiding. That meant he was weak, of course, and still building up his forces. Not unhindered, though - the Watchers and the Slayer had gone to great effort to cull the numbers of demons in Britain. And from what he heard, even the wizards were tightening up their security, after the death of one of their Aurors. It was a mixed blessing. It kept the dark wizards from acting openly, but it also hampered the Council’s own efforts to strike at known Death Eaters. If not for that he would have ordered a few incidents that would encourage further vigilance among wizards.

All things considered, waiting for better opportunities seemed to be the best course of action. He’d order his grandniece to keep her eyes open, but avoid taking risks until she and her friends could get trained over the holidays. Hopefully they’d have recruited a Curse-Breaker by then.

*****

Hogwarts was freezing in the middle of December, or so Ron thought. Fortunately, he had thick robes as well as a Weasley jumper, and he knew the Warming Charm by heart. His fellow prefect was not so lucky, alas. Her robes were a bit too thin and too open, in his opinion - even if they looked great on her - and her Warming Charms needed a bit of work as well. It was a sore spot with her though - last time he had cast one on her when he had noticed she was shivering she had pouted for the rest of the patrol. Girls were weird.

He hoped the Slayer would not be as weird. Or hard to understand. He’d meet her soon, after all. Or so he expected. And if he made her mad by mistake, she would surely do something far worse to him than casting a Bat-Bogey Hex or summoning a flock of birds who pecked at his head. He shuddered at the possibilities. He was committed, and he’d not let his friends down when they needed him, but… the Slayer scared him. Everyone knew she was the weapon of the Inquisition, the Witch Hunters’ Scythe.

“Are you cold?” Lavender looked at him with concern. No comment about his own Warming Charm. She held no grudges, as far as he could tell. She had not said a bad word about Hermione, even though he could tell from some of Hermione’s own remarks during their still secret special training that the two did not always get along well.

“No, no. Just an unpleasant thought.” Ron shook his head, smiling. “We should go now, it’s time.” They had learned not to be early or late with their patrols - Umbridge and Snape were just waiting for them to make even the tiniest mistake, and so the two had become model prefects. His mum was ecstatic. Fortunately his brothers had understood his reasons, and refrained from pranking him… too much.

Lavender nodded and hooked her right arm through his left one. When she had done this the first time, he had shaken her off almost out of reflex - his movements would be hindered if they came under attack, and she was blocking her wand arm! But then the expression on her face had sent such guilt through him, he had quickly apologized, even if he didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for, and had resolved to cast a Shield Charm first thing, in case of trouble, to cover both of them. And to train her better. Not as hard as he was training himself, of course. But he made sure to pair up with Lavender in the Gryffindor Defense training lessons. She was eager to learn, Harry’s and Hermione’s own impression notwithstanding.

The two started their patrols, nodding pleasantly at the shivering Auror shifting his weight from one foot to the other at the central staircase. Once out of earshot, Ron could not help but comment. “Apparently, casting a Warming Charm is not a needed skill for an Auror.”

Lavender giggled, and briefly squeezed his arm.

Ron didn’t think of the upcoming holidays at all after that, enjoying his conversation with Lavender - though he was keeping an eye out for trouble, as had become his habit. So he was ready with his wand when a figure strode towards them on the fourth corridor. It turned out to be McGonagall, or someone who looked like her - Hermione had rubbed off on him a bit, he realized.

The professor sounded even more serious than usual when she spoke. “Mister Weasley, please follow me. Your father has had an accident and is currently at St. Mungo’s, in critical condition.”

Lavender gasped, but Ron didn’t hear it, or anything else for a while. Later, he barely remembered how he had arrived at the hospital, where the rest of his family had been gathered around the bed his dad was lying in, his skin pale with discolored stains all over, shivering and sweating. And the stench of the wound in his leg… he’d remember that for a long, long time.

*****

_Harry found himself in a strange place - a stone corridor, but far too large, as if made for giants. Or maybe half-giants. And he was not walking, but gliding over the polished marble floor, towards an empty corner… an empty corner that smelled like Prey. Like food. And then he shot forward, faster than he thought possible, his mouth opening wide, razor-sharp fangs stabbing soft meat, poison shooting through them into the prey, which quickly collapsed into a convulsing mass of food. Harry ignored the feeble attempts to ward him off and slithered around the prey, unhinging his lower jaw. He enjoyed the expression of pain and fear and growing horror when the prey realized it was going to be eaten alive. It was still squirming inside him, a most satisfying feeling, when suddenly pain shot through him, and he felt his belly ripping open, spilling his prey and his blood and entrails on the floor._

Harry woke up with a scream, trembling hands grasping for his belly, trying to push his entrails inside again. The pain… the pain…

“Harry! Harry! It’s a nightmare, you’re not dying!” He felt arms wrap around him and heard a familiar, comforting voice tell him over and over that it had been a nightmare. A nightmare. The same nightmare he had had every night, ever since the night Mr. Weasley had been attacked by a giant snake in the Ministry. Ever since he had seen, and felt, the snake attacking Mr. Weasley. And had felt the wizard cutting him, the snake, up from the inside.

Shaking he managed to pat his friend’s back and return the hug. “I am fine, Hermione.”

He wasn’t, and she knew it. She did not say anything. Trembling, he focused on his Occlumency exercises, tried to calm himself down, to control himself. It took a while, he wasn’t certain how long, but he managed to slow his breathing down, and relax his death grip on Hermione. He didn’t let go of her though, and neither did she.

After the screams from his first nightmare had woken up the entire dorm, he had taken to sleeping in the room of requirement, with Hermione, in case he had more than a nightmare, again. His vision, what Hermione had called it, had saved Mr. Weasley’s life. At least, everyone was saying so. The wizard had managed to cut himself free, but would have succumbed to the poison in his veins, if not for Dumbledore arriving in time, after being alerted by Hermione.

It didn’t do much to make Harry feel less guilty about attacking him, or at least, sharing the senses of the snake who had attacked him. He didn’t know how that had been possible. Dumbledore had claimed it might be related to him being a parselmouth, but Hermione was sceptical. Harry could not think of a reason why he would have had such a connection to such a particular snake. Well, he could think of one, but he did not want to think of that. That snake had looked familiar, after all…

“We should go back to sleep.” Hermione’s voice shook him from his rather morbid thoughts. He nodded, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“Yes,” he whispered into her ear, then released her and laid back down, closing his eyes. He expected Hermione to return to her bed, but then he felt her on his side, pulling his arm away so she could snuggle up.

He stared at her in surprise, but before he could say anything she whispered: “We’ll leave for the holidays tomorrow. Let’s sleep like this.”

He didn’t have another nightmare that night.

*****

Sirius and Lupin were not doing well, Hermione Granger had realized that quickly after arriving at No. 12 Grimmauld Place for the holidays. Both were wanted wizards, both were confined for the foreseeable future to an awful, cursed house, and both were the target of Snape’s barbs about not doing anything while others risked their lives. The last she had found out found out from Harry, who had heard it from Fred and George, who had used their latest invention, extendable ears, to spy on the Order. While they didn’t work on the room the Order was usually meeting in, they did work very well on any other room - such as the kitchen, where the three often butted heads, or so the twins claimed.

Whatever it was that the Order was doing, it had everyone on edge after Mr. Weasley had been almost killed. He was doing better now, thanks to muggle medicine. Magic hadn’t been able to heal his wound, a cursed wound the healers had said. Those stupid wizards had not wanted to try muggle means, even after Hermione had brought it up, but the Weasleys had been willing to try anything - and apparently stitches had worked, after the thread had been treated magically so the poison left in the wound would not dissolve it. Since that had worked she hoped that Harry’s own cursed scar could be dealt with with plastic surgery. Though when she had mentioned the possibility he had said it could wait. He claimed that it didn’t bother him much and that he could handle the pain. Hermione hadn’t pressed him to find out what exactly that statement meant, but she had not forgotten it either. Harry had a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide.

The two adult wizards, Harry, Ron and herself were waiting in what Sirius had called the Southern Salon for Dumbledore to join them. The Headmaster had called for a meeting on the very evening of their break. It wasn’t a very cozy room, but it had no portraits of bigoted Blacks on the walls, and the furniture was comfortable. Sirius and Lupin had vouched for the safety of the snacks Kreacher had brought, but Harry had still cast a few spells to check. With two stir-crazy marauders and the Weasley twins living in the same house, one had to take certain precautions. Hermione had taken a more direct approach and had whispered threats into their ears of what she’d do as retaliation if they dared to endanger anyone with puerile pranks while Voldemort stalked them. She hoped they’d heed her words. For their sake.

“Why don’t you sit in Harry’s lap, Hermione? It would likely be more comfortable than your current arrangement.” Sirius smirked at her when she looked up from her notes.

She was sitting close to Harry - very close, their thighs were touching. She glanced around. Lupin was smiling, if faintly, Ron was looking at the food, and Harry was glaring at Sirius. She was about to sigh in exasperation but reconsidered.

“You’re right.” She smiled sweetly and slid into Harry’s lap.

By the time she had found a comfortable position that allowed her to read and make notes, Sirius was still staring at her with his mouth open, but Lupin was laughing and Ron was gaping and shaking his head. Harry, whose reaction was the only one that truly mattered, if she was honest, had frozen at first, but then wrapped his arms around her waist.

That was exactly when the Headmaster arrived, of course.

*****

Harry had heard his girlfriend, who was currently occupying his lap, squeak when the door opened, and if not for his arms around her waist she would certainly have jumped up. “Hello, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore returned his greeting, but didn’t not react to the sight of the young couple other than smiling. Hermione stopped trying to get up after a few attempts, but he’d probably pay for it later, even though she had started it, kind of. But then the Headmaster took a seat on a conjured chair and started to speak, and Harry and Hermione forgot about their peculiar seating arrangement.

“I have called for this meeting because there is a rather important matter to discuss. Two matters, actually, though one depends on the other.” He looked at everyone present over his reading glasses. “Young Harry and Miss Granger, as well as Mister Weasley, are in need of instruction in Occlumency. It takes priority over anything else.” With a glance at Ron, he added “Yes, that means you will be excused from doing any chores. I hope Remus will prove to be an acceptable instructor.”

Harry glanced at Remus, and nodded. He trusted his honorary uncle.

Sighing, the old wizard leaned back. “The reason this is so important is two-fold. First, Harry has a connection to Voldemort, through his scar. That was how he could sense what Voldemort’s snake familiar saw. Learning Occlumency will allow him to block Voldemort from entering his mind or influencing him.”

Harry trembled. Dumbledore just had stated what he had suspected, what he had known but hadn’t wanted to accept. He buried his face into Hermione’s shoulder and felt her hand rub his head in a comforting gesture. No one said anything for a minute, or even two. Harry wasn’t counting.

But as soon as he looked up again, Hermione asked: “And what’s the second thing?”

Harry squeezed her waist a bit - sometimes her need to know everything as soon as possible was a bit aggravating. He could do without a second revelation.

“Before he was born there was a prophecy made, that foretold his birth, and that he would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort.” Harry stiffened again, and briefly closed his eyes. A prophecy! From what the Watchers had told him and Hermione, a prophecy very rarely was a good thing. They were twisted, and warped, and often only understood after they already had come to pass. Hermione shifted in his lap, turning to hug him.

“I see you know the troubles prophecies bring with them.” Dumbledore didn’t look surprised, contrary to Sirius and Remus. Harry only nodded in response.

“A spy for the Dark Lord overheard the first part of this prophecy, which ultimately caused him to come after you, on that tragic day in October 1981. Once you have mastered Occlumency, you will hear the full prophecy.”

Sirius and Remus made some surprised noises, but Harry just nodded again. He’d learn Occlumency, he’d master it, and then he’d learn what he would have to deal with.

*****


	8. The Prophecy

**Chapter 8: The Prophecy**

Learning Occlumency was harder than Harry Potter had thought. He had done the mental exercises for months while at Hogwarts and had thought he was good at it, but to actually stop a mental probe, a Legilimency attack? That was difficult, and even a bit painful. And that was with Remus being gentle and careful so he’d not hurt Harry or his friends. At least that’s what the wizard had said. Sometimes Harry was not certain that the man was actually being gentle.

Right now Remus was testing Hermione. Harry’s girlfriend was staring at the werewolf, teeth clenched together, while she tried to push him out of her mind. Or something like that - Remus had said all three of his students were using different ways to protect their minds. Harry knew she had reservations about Remus teaching them, and potentially finding out their secrets, but she had not opposed the lessons. Not that she had been able to find an alternative anyway. Spending the holidays at the Council was out of the question.

Harry opened another cola and took a long sip while he watched the scene. Hermione was breathing louder now, and Harry spotted drops of sweat on her brows. She had her hands on her thighs, her nails digging into her flesh through her jeans. The witch was hurting, he was certain of that, but she was too stubborn to stop. Like him. He longed to go over and comfort her, but it would only distract her. Remus was looking strained as well, Harry realized, if not in pain. But their teacher was taking far longer now than he had when they had started, a week ago.

Finally Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head away, panting and shivering. Remus took a deep breath. “That was very good, Hermione. You almost managed to keep me from your memories.”

“Almost is not good enough.” Hermione pouted, wiping the sweat from her forehead with trembling hands before trying to gather up the strands of her hair that had escaped her ponytail and put them back into a semblance of a hairstyle, as she usually called it. Harry loved the sight, it was just so her.

Remus took a sip from his flask - probably a potion, Harry thought - and turned to Ron. “Ron, your turn.”

Ron got up from where he had been sitting on the floor with a groan. “My poor head… it’s already hurting.” He took a deep breath, and then sat down in front of Remus while Hermione walked over and sat down next to Harry, leaning against him. Ron started to groan at once, while Remus didn’t look too strained, more… annoyed.

“Thanks!” Hermione had used Harry’s distraction to snatch his cola bottle from him, and drained it.

Whatever Harry had been about to say in protest died before it reached his mouth when she smiled at him, licked her lips and then kissed him. He grabbed another bottle while she banished the empty one to the other side of the room, vanishing it before it reached the wall.

“You’re always training.” He opened the new bottle and drank it just in case his girlfriend wanted to steal that as well.

“Of course. We’ve got a Dark Lord to kill.” She sounded even more determined than usual. Fierce even.

“Yes. And we’re a bit behind the plan.” Harry didn’t say anything more - no one knew about their contact to the Council, after all. Or so he assumed - the mental exercises at least seemed to have enabled him to track what memories Remus was accessing.

“We’ll get there. Even Ron,” Hermione stated confidently, motioning towards Remus, who was now looking quite frustrated while Ron was sounding as if he was dying. Of hunger and thirst. She must have noticed Harry’s sceptical expression, since she added: “Remus takes longer and longer with Ron, and Ron’s been complaining the same since we started. I don’t know what he is doing, but it’s working.”

“No two minds are alike. No two defenses are identical,” Harry quoted the book on Occlumency. Hermione beamed at him, and this time he bent over and kissed her. When they broke contact again, Ron was sitting next to them, muttering about love birds.

Then it was Harry’s turn again. He stood up and walked over to Remus, sitting down in front of his honorary uncle. He closed his eyes, and tried to still his mind, imagining a calm pool of water. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again and met Remus’s.

“Legilimens!”

Harry felt Remus entering his mind at once - ripples appeared in the pool. He didn’t try to detect where exactly the ripples came from, he grit his teeth and imagined a stormy sea instead of the pool. The water instantly turned into a roaring maelstrom, whipped up by a whirlwind. His mind was in the eye of the storm, thick walls holding the water at bay while the storm’s deafening noise drowned out any other sound. Harry didn’t stop there though - he pushed further. Pushed the water up, into the hurricane, until it formed a wall of water around his stone walls, where anything that entered it would be stopped and spit out as a smashed, broken, mess. And yet… he felt something push through his wall of water. He increased the power, imagining a storm strong enough to wipe an island from the map. The intruder slowed down, even stopped for a bit, but then continued on, finally reaching the eye of the storm. Harry raised the walls, thickened them, forming a cupola instead of a walled enclosure. That didn’t stop the intruder either though, it only slowed him down.

Then Remus broke through his wall and at once stopped his spell. Harry realized he was shaking and panting, and groaning loudly. He let his body sag and closed his eyes, massaging his temples in the hope of alleviating the headache he was suffering from. Hermione was there, he hadn’t noticed her walking over to him, hugging him, slipping on his lap.

“I think that’s enough for now. We will continue later, in the evening.” Remus said, before beating a hasty retreat, probably because of Hermione’s glare. Harry didn’t care.

“How long did it take him this time?”

“You improved your time by three more minutes.” Hermione didn’t sound as happy as she should, given his improvements.

“Good.” He leaned on her, resting his head on her shoulder and imagined the pain in his head vanishing. It helped a bit, or so he told himself.

“Oy! Get a room you two!” Ron dug out a butterbeer and shook his head at the the couple.

“We have a room,” Hermione shot back, sticking her tongue out at their friend. “It’s just that you’re in it right now.”

When all three of them were laughing, and with Hermione still in his lap, Harry’s headache was gone. But Ron was right - he needed to be alone with his girlfriend. Some things one needed privacy for. He had been thinking about this for quite some time. What he’d say, what he’d do. But he hadn’t had the nerve to actually do it.

*****

“Hermione? Are you, err, decent?”

That was Harry’s voice. Hermione Granger looked at the door in her room, which was still closed. She was quite sure it had not been opened either. “Harry?”

“Over here.”

Hermione turned around and spotted a waving hand, sticking out of… a gap in the wall?

“Are you decent?” Harry sounded almost timid.

Hermione looked down and pondered the question for a second. She was wearing a nightshirt over her panties. It wasn’t as opaque as it could have been, and she’d certainly not walk around outside her room just wearing that, but… “Yes, I am. Is that a secret door?”

The gap opened to reveal exactly that - a door connecting hers and Harry’s rooms. Harry stepped through. He had not changed into his pajamas yet. “Yes. Sirius show…” he broke off when she saw her, and gaped.

“What?” Hermione frowned, though she was very pleased about his reaction.

“You’re, ah…” Harry blushed, but didn’t turn his head away.

“Yes?” She shouldn’t enjoy that, Hermione knew, but it was fun, and seeing Harry so overwhelmed by the sight of her was stroking her ego almost as much as the open-mouthed staring at the Yule Ball a year ago. Although if he said ‘a girl’ she’d definitely hex him.

“... beautiful…”

“Why, thank you.” Smiling, Hermione sat down on her bed, crossing her legs. “Did you sneak in just to tell me that?”

“Ah, no, I mean…” Harry shook his head.

“You know, a boy visiting his girlfriend in her room, at night… that’s usually indicative of certain intentions.” She really shouldn’t do this, the young witch knew that, but she was still so happy about his reaction to seeing her like this, to have such proof of how attractive he found her, she couldn’t help but wanting to see just how far she could push him. She suppressed the brief fantasy of Harry vanishing her nightshirt then pushing her down on the bed and kissing her passionately to stifle her protests. Harry wouldn’t do that, and she’d not let him do that. Not yet.

“That’s what Sirius said when he showed me the door, but… I am not ready for that.” Harry looked pleadingly at her.

“Neither am I. Sorry, Harry, I was teasing you. But I am very happy that you think I am beautiful.” Hermione patted the the spot next to her. “Come, sit down.” She also decided that she needed to have a serious word with Sirius about what was appropriate and what was not, but that could wait for tomorrow.

Harry sighed with relief and sat down next to her. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, as he was used to. She felt him tense and hesitate just a fraction of a second when his hand came to rest on her stomach, but before she could grab it and hold it there he relaxed again. “Don’t hex him too badly. He means well.”

“I won’t. I am his guest, after all,” Hermione reassured her boyfriend and leaned into him. She felt excited at their closeness. It was daring, forbidden even. Molly would have a fit. Her parents would be uncomfortable, even if they would trust her not to go too far with Harry. Sirius would approve of course. She snuck her own arm under Harry’s jumper and shirt, and wrapped it around his waist. He tensed up at that, but as before, quickly relaxed. “So, why did you enter my room then?”

“To talk. About us.”

“Ah.” Hermione’s old insecurities briefly flared up, filling her with dread. She pushed them down again, telling herself that Harry loved her, found her attractive, beautiful even, he had just said so, and was currently hugging her. He’d not do that if he wanted to break up. She held him closer just to make sure he was not pulling away. When he leaned into her, she felt they didn’t need to talk, just stay like that. But she was curious what Harry wanted to say. Curious, and a bit nervous - this was uncharted terrain for her. No books or rules to guide her. Oh, there were rules, but… they were general ones. This was Harry. A special boy.

“We’ve known each other, we’ve been friends, for a long time now. Years. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve had troubles, but we’ve gone past that.” He was speaking slowly, carefully. “I trust you more than anyone else. Whatever happens, I want you to know, I … I love you.”

Hermione gasped and pulled his head toward her and kissed him. When she broke the kiss both of them were panting and somehow had ended up lying on the bed, with her on top of him. She was sure he knew how she felt, but she had to say it. “I love you.”

They kissed again, and Hermione felt his arms slip under her shirt, caressing her back. This time it was her who stiffened for a second, before relaxing. Part of her wanted him to push her shirt further up, pull it off her, and then… but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. But she did run her own arms under his jumper, placing them on his chest.

The two remained like that, her lying on him, his arms wrapped around her. Warm, happy, content. In love. “Stay here,” she whispered into his ear.

“Hermione! I am…” He tensed up again, and almost started to push her away.

She pushed him back and met his eyes. “Just stay here, with me. Nothing more.”

Harry nervously licked his lips, then nodded. It wasn't the first time they had done this, but it was the first time she had been wearing almost nothing while they slept. She took a long time to fall asleep.

*****

India Cohen gently caressed her new crossbow, a Christmas gift from Kit. It was a modern one, made of metal and plastic, no wood at all. Far more powerful than a medieval one, far easier and faster to cock and reload. The perfect gift to snipe vampires…. or Death Eaters. Kit was so thoughtful. She hoped he appreciated her own gift, a folding ceramic combat knife she had bought with her tiny allowance, as well. Her Watcher had a tendency to go unarmed but for a stake, and she worried about him. At least he would not be near any danger today. He’d be too much at a disadvantage should anything happen in Diagon Alley, unlike India herself. Or Fitzburg, her backup for this. She took a last look at her shiny new crossbow - not really shiny, of course, that would make it too visible - and stashed it in the mokeskin pouch on her hip before slipping into the ugly robe she’d have to wear for the mission. How wizards walked, much less fought in that she’d never understand, it was like wearing a tent. It made for good camouflage though - even without magic one could hide so much under a robe…

Fitzburg, also wearing a drab robe, was waiting for her in the foyer of the Council’s headquarters. The young wizard didn’t look impatient and was smiling at her, but India only nodded at him in return. As much as she wanted to hunt dark wizards, she’d rather do it with Kit, if there was a safe way to do it. Fitzburg… there was just something not right with him. A tiny spark that felt off, unnatural, to her. All wizards felt like that. Kit was there as well, and she felt that familiar longing. If only he’d… she stopped that thought, and focused on the mission.

“Good luck, India.” Kit smiled at her, and she had to resist the urge to run up to him and hug him. She had no excuse right now. She almost was wishing for one to seek comfort from her watcher, as he had offered in the past, but she wanted more than comfort, or even pity. She was a woman now. She smiled back, and stepped to Fitzburg’s side.

The young wizard took her hand and apparated away. For a terrible moment India felt as if she had lost control of her body, her keen senses overloaded with unnatural impressions that made no sense. Then she was standing on solid ground again. She didn’t drop into a crouch, unlike the first few times she had been apparated along, but she was tense. Fitzburg smiled, patronizingly, and was obviously waiting until she was ready to walk towards the Leaky Cauldron. She didn’t scowl at the presumption, but glared at him and set out on her own, making him rush after her before he could match her steps at her side.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the pub, at which point she slid her arm into his so they looked just like a couple entering Diagon Alley for a little shopping. She had to fight not to scowl when the smell of the dive hit her - stale smoke, sweat, dried blood and worse, she noticed a hag sitting in a corner, behind a newspaper, and almost attacked it, and exotic flavors that didn’t mesh up with what her other senses were telling her. Too much magic here for her taste.

Fitzburg didn’t even go straight to the exit into Diagon Alley, no, he chatted with the ugly bartender, asked about the latest news, even bought a newspaper India knew he had already read. All in the name of preserving their cover. India hated such games. She wanted to stalk her prey, pounce from an ambush or run it down, not hide among the sheep she was to protect.

At last they reached Diagon Alley, and India relaxed some. The smells were less concentrated here, fewer people were around. The air even smelled somewhat fresh and cold, and not like pine. Further, the sun was about to set - perfect timing. For a romantic walk, and for hunting.

The Slayer looked around, acting as if she was window shopping, but checking for the red robes of aurors. A pair was patrolling the alley, looking miserable in the cold, and not really paying attention. Good. She beamed a fake smile at Fitzburg and nodded toward them. He nodded back, too close and friendly for her liking. Now if Kit were here… she’d certainly be able to play her role much more convincingly!

Gringotts didn’t seem to be busy, but they did not enter. Slayers and goblins did not mix well, it took an effort not to slaughter the ugly creatures where they stood. The two walked slowly towards Knockturn Alley instead. India perked up. Those were her hunting grounds. She knew the area, knew the side alleys there, the dark corners one could hide in. She almost smiled ferally, and barely managed to beam at Fitzburg like the simpering girls she had seen on television instead.

They couldn’t enter right away, of course. That would have been too good to be true. Instead they entered the shop at the corner. Fitzburg distracted the clerk while India snuck out. A minute later she had rolled up her robe and tied it to the small of her back and was skulking in the shadows.

It didn’t take her long to reach the truly depraved parts of the alley, where monsters walked around, often openly pursuing their sick business. Monsters that looked the part, and monsters that hid behind a human facade. She ducked into a familiar side alley. No one around, man or monster. The Slayer dropped into a crouch, then jumped straight up, gloved hands gripping the edge of the low roof. She didn’t go for the flashy moves today, but simply pulled herself up and slid onto the roof, to the edge overlooking the alley. A perfect vantage point.

With practised ease - it had taken her an hour - she pulled her new crossbow out, cocked already. She had both heavy bolts that would go through a troll without stopping and lighter ones, dosed in poison, in case there was a good opportunity to capture a Death Eater. From up there she didn’t spot anyone, but something didn’t feel right.

She studied the area more closely, until she spotted the telltale ripples of an invisibility cloak, in the entrance of a side alley. Someone was observing the area where she had killed Greyback. But who? Auror, or Death Eater? She briefly pondered this, then smiled - she’d find out. She crawled back, out of sight of anyone on the street, then let herself drop down into the side alley again, where she donned the ugly robe again. Those wizards had no sense of style.

When she stepped out of the alley she was not skulking, nor was she walking like a witch besotted with her paramour. She was moving like a terrified girl who expected someone to jump her at any time. Bait. Or camouflage. She stuck to the walls, under the overhanging roofs, afraid to be noticed, hoping to hide. In front of her was the cloaked guard, or ambusher. Right when she was passing him, she suddenly charged, pushing the invisible wizard into the dark alley, out of sight of the main street, and into darkness where she’d have the advantage.

She had her fists dug into the cloak, and pulled it off with a sharp tug, using the movement to roll to the side, and evading a red spell. The wizard - no, the witch - was fast. Fast, but clumsy - she slipped on the wet cobblestones, and her next spell would have missed India even if she had not moved. The Slayer was already on her though. Her left hand grabbed the witch’s wand hand, squeezing it and bending it away, while she drove her right fist into the witch’s stomach.

Her opponent folded over, and a blow to her neck smashed her into the ground, knocking her out. She was wearing ankle boots and a black robe, both quite patched up. She didn’t smell right though - too clean, no old sweat or dirt. India stashed the cloak and pulled out a portkey. She activated it and dropped it on the witch. It didn’t go off.

Portkey wards! Ambush! India ripped off her robe and jumped on a broken din, and from there to the roof. She pulled her crossbow while still in the air, grabbing hold of the edge with one hand, then pushed herself off the wall with her legs, somersaulting as a result and came down on the roof ready to shoot.

No one was near her - she didn’t see nor hear anything… wait. Turning, she spotted a broom rider, almost perfectly cloaked, flying towards her. A bolt to the thigh made the rider careen off, and crash into the roof next to her. She was already sprinting towards Diagon Alley, jumping over to the next house. Below her she heard cries, alarmed ones, and saw two red robes rushing into Knockturn Alley. Aurors, reacting to the commotion - or to an attack on an undercover auror? She didn’t stay to find out, but continued to run.

“On the roof!”

Someone had seen her. India ducked, then had to jump to the side to avoid another spell, from a broom rider she had missed until then. The roof blew up next to her. She rolled, then dropped down into a side alley, cocking and loading her crossbow before she touched the ground. Another wizard appeared in the entrance. In her way. She nailed him into his wand arm with her next bolt, then pushed him to the side and sprinted into Diagon Alley. Red spells flew past her, then, right before she reached a side alley, one hit her, and she suddenly felt lethargic, as if she was exhausted, weak… she dropped to the ground and rolled into the alley, rage at the ambush overcoming the spell. Once inside she wrapped herself into the stolen - looted - cloak and went further into the alley.

Two red robes came after her, wands out and covering each other and the alley. They were speaking in low voices, but India could hear them as if she was standing next to them when they stopped at the entrance.

“I hit her, I know it. No shield.”

“Where is she then?”

“Timed portkey? The alley here is not covered.”

“Or she’s hiding. Careful. That’s one dangerous werewolf bitch. She took down Greyback, after all.”

“Wait for reinforcements?”

“It’s a dead end. She can’t get out.”

It was a dead end, but not for a Slayer. India easily climbed the five meter wall there, without giving herself away. Then she was on the roof, still invisible, and started to make her way towards the Leaky Cauldron. She felt frustrated - she hadn’t killed any monster or dark wizard, and had almost been caught by wizards herself. Kit would be so disappointed. At least she had gotten away without needing the help of Fitzburg. That was something.

*****

“How are your students progressing, Remus?” Albus Dumbledore was sitting in the kitchen at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, sipping tea. The students in question were in the library at the moment, with Sirius supervising. He still had cast a privacy charm, of course. Secrecy could not be overrated these days.

Remus sighed, and Albus frowned. He had been under the impression that the trio was doing well. Why would… ah.

“Young Nymphadora has been released from St. Mungo’s. Her wounds were not grave, barely more than a typical Quidditch injury.” The Headmaster smiled reassuringly at his younger friend. Young love… it warmed his heart to see Remus, who had all but convinced himself he would never love, as dangerous as he was, to open his heart, at least a bit, to someone.

Remus coughed in response, and decided to ignore it, or so it seemed. “They have made progress, and are at a point where I would deem them capable of resisting most mental probes under normal circumstances.”

Albus nodded. “And when the circumstances are not normal?”

“In that case they would likely be given Veritaserum, or be tortured. Or both. And I do not know anyone who would be able to stand up to that for very long.”

Albus conceded the point with a gesture of his hand.

“It was quite remarkable what different methods each of the three took to reach a similar level of competency.” Remus’s voice took on the tone he used when teaching, Albus noted. It was a shame he was a hunted man, instead of teaching students - he had a gift for it. “Harry walls his mind off, protecting it with sheer willpower. He lashes out at any probes. Trying to penetrate his memories is like trying to scale a mountain while a hurricane batters at you. Being thrown out of his mind is quite a painful experience.”

Albus eyebrows rose in surprise. “He managed to not only stop you, throw you out?” That was a remarkable feat.

“Indeed, last evening. I had a headache for the rest of the night.” Remus sounded impressed as well - he knew better than most what it took to achieve that. “Hermione uses a different method. Trying to read her thoughts is like navigating a labyrinth while collecting pieces of a puzzle that would result in a map. By the time one has collected them all, the labyrinth usually has changed.”

That sounded like Miss Granger indeed - a sharp mind, sharper than most Albus knew. Maybe sharper than all, once she matured a bit more. “Did she throw you out as well?”

Remus winced. “Not exactly.” At Albus’s encouraging gesture, he continued. “She waited until I was fully concentrated on solving her puzzles, and stunned me. Several times in fact.”

That was a surprise indeed. Albus would have expected Miss Granger to use a more conventional defense, precise counter-attacks on the probes, as suggested by the books she read on the subject. This novel, more practical solution hinted at how much she had changed - probably the influence of the Council’s training. “And young Mister Weasley?”

Remus groaned. “He’s the worst of them all. His mind has almost none of the defenses one expects, but it’s almost impossible to find anything - you look for what he did last night, and end up watching his last Quidditch match. Or meal. It’s like trying to navigate a ship through shallow waters - if you do not follow the channels you run aground, and the channels lead to the Quidditch pitch or the kitchen. Or to the common room, where he is chatting with his friends.”

Albus was quite tempted to test that - it sounded like a truly unique experience. Young Mister Weasley’s passion served him well there, it seems. But his curiosity had to wait. He nodded instead. “You deem them ready then.”

“Yes, I do.” He seemed glad to have finished as well.

“I do not want you to betray anyone’s confidences, but I have to know if you discovered anything that truly needs to be kept secret during your lessons, so they know you know.” Albus studied the werewolf, looking for any signs that he had found out about their ties to the Watchers Council.

Remus blushed, which was not what Albus had expected. “Ah… nothing of the sort, just some… passionate private thoughts teenagers usually have.”

“Ah!” The Headmaster smiled. That certainly was not something Remus would like to mention to anyone, much less to the ones concerned. His curiosity was piqued when Remus muttered he would never be able to rebuke Miss Granger in class without being embarrassed, but he did not let on he had caught that. “I’ll speak to them about the prophecy then.”

“Are you sure, Headmaster? They are still so young, so innocent.” That more than anything told Albus that Remus had not discovered the secrets the three were keeping.

“I am.” He finished his tea, thanked Kreacher, ignoring the insults the elf mumbled in return, and started towards the door. He canceled the privacy spell, then turned towards Remus again. “You should rest a bit. Young Nymphadora will be arriving in the evening, and will likely seek some company to help her forget her ordeal.”

He had timed it just right - Remus was drinking his own tea, and ended up sputtering and coughing. Albus left the kitchen as if he had not seen anything. Sometimes, even obvious love needed a bit of a push. In these trying times, time was something even young people might run out of any day, as the brutal attack on Nymphadora had proven.

*****

Harry, Hermione and Ron all turned towards the entrance when they heard the door to the library open. Sirius, whose idea of supervising was apparently alternatively teasing Harry and Hermione, and reading a book filled with naughty stories and illustrations - unless he had been pranking Hermione when she had asked to know what he was reading, which was always a possibility - was simply nodding at the hHeadmaster. He must trust his home’s security a lot, Harry thought - but then, it had served as a safe haven for him for over a year, and now for Remus for months. Compared to Hogwarts that was quite a good record, even counting the cursed furniture.

“Ah, there you are!” The old wizard was beaming. “I just spoke with Remus, and he told me you have, if not yet mastered, so at least reached impressive competency at Occlumency.”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. Did that mean…

“So, I think it is time you hear the full prophecy.”

That made everyone sit up straight, including Sirius. Hermione even stood up, so eager was she to hear it. Harry felt a bit angry at that - he was the subject of the prophecy, it had shaped his life, robbed him of his parents, and she treated it like every other piece of obscure knowledge. He berated himself for such petty thoughts right away. His girlfriend knew, as did he, how important the prophecy was to defeat Voldemort, and how important it was for his life. It was only natural that she would want to know as much as possible about it.

Sirius went to check the door was closed, and Dumbledore cast a few obscure spells. Or not so obscure spells, Harry noted, when he saw Hermione’s eyes light up. Once the adults were satisfied no one was listening in - Harry thought he had heard twin cries of dismay when Sirius had cast a spell before locking the door - they sat down at the table with the three students.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and his smile felt a bit forced. “It goes without saying that this secret may not leave this room.” He looked at everyone, and one by one the three nodded. Harry felt a bit bad. They were planning to inform the Council as soon as possible, after all, but there was no choice. The Watchers had to know. Besides, Uncle Quentin was family. Sort of. Then Dumbledore told them the full prophecy, and Harry forget about anything else. Marked as an equal… the scar? A power the Dark Lord did not know? What could that be? He had managed to burn Quirrel to ashes as a first year, but hadn’t been able to hurt the Dark Lord when he was resurrected. Voldemort had to die or he’d would kill Harry. He knew that already, sort of, but did it mean he had to personally do the deed?

He shivered and had to clench his teeth together to keep them from chattering, he was so tense. Hermione moved into his lap, hugging him. Her closeness helped, and he buried his face into her hair while he tried to calm down. He barely heard Ron muttering curses that would cause Mrs Weasley to cast a Scourgify into his mouth if she ever heard them.

After a few minutes - or so he thought - he had calmed down, and was meeting Dumbledore’s eyes again. “Thank you, Sir. It explains a lot.” It didn’t, it opened more questions than it answered, but Harry didn’t want to say that.

“Sirius, I think Harry and his friends could do with some tea to help with this revelation. Maybe you could get some in the kitchen? Sirius, who had been staring at his charge with anguish on his face, rushed off. His godfather must feel terrible, the young wizard realized, for not being able to help him with this. His thoughts were interrupted when Dumbledore cast another privacy spell.

“While your godfather is away, there’s another important topic we need to discuss. I need to get into contact with the Council. It is nigh time for us to join forces against Voldemort.”

*****


	9. Alliances

**Chapter 9: Alliances**

Harry Potter stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes. When… how… Remus? Had Remus found out about their ties to the Watcher’s Council, and informed Dumbledore? The thought of his honorary uncle betraying his confidence like that hurt almost like a physical blow. In his lap, Hermione stiffened. His girlfriend had had her suspicions, he remembered.

“How did you find out, sir?” the young witch asked in a clipped, strained tone.

Dumbledore sighed. “I caught a glimpse of your mind when you brought the matter with Madam Umbridge up. I apologize for the rude intrusion, but I had to be certain what happened, given the delicate political ramifications of the situation.”

Hermione froze, and Harry could almost feel her anger building up, filling her. Anger at the Headmaster, but at herself too - he knew she hated failing, especially failing him, her family, or herself. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

“I see.” Harry could feel her trembling slightly as she asked: “And why do you mention this now, and not earlier?”

“If I had mentioned this topic earlier, would you have stayed at Hogwarts, or would you have fled the premises? I couldn’t risk that. We need to work together, you, me, the Order, and the Council, to defeat Voldemort.”

Harry had to, if grudgingly, admit that if they had known about this violation of their privacy, they’d have likely decided to cut and run, and cast their lot with the Watchers. “Maybe,” he answered. Hermione gripped his hand, but didn’t say anything right then.

“I do not have to tell you how dangerous it is if we do not work together. It would be very easy for certain elements to set the Ministry against the Council by playing on the fear of the Slayer.”

“You mean Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Yes, Harry. I still have friends in the Ministry. If we work together, we can avoid a lot of mishaps.”

“Do you expect the Council to follow your plans, sir?” Hermione hadn’t relaxed even a bit, she was still tenser than a bowstring, but she at least sounded composed. It was a good question too, Harry knew.

“No. I think we - the Order - and the Council both have their duties and tasks they are well-suited for. But we need to coordinate and share information, if we want to defeat our common foe. I learned that lesson fighting Grindelwald. It took a lot of people from a lot of countries working together to defeat him, even if popular belief makes it appear as if it was just us two dueling.” The Headmaster smiled sadly, for a moment he even seemed lost in thought.

“I can ask my contact at the Council, and see what he thinks of this. But given past events involving Harry, he might not be too willing to extend his trust to you,” Hermione said.

Dumbledore sighed some more, and almost looked crestfallen. “I have made mistakes, I have to admit that, but often, there was not much one could have done.”

“That remains up to debate.” Hermione raised her chin shifted her position slightly, as if she wanted to shield Harry with her body while she gripped his left hand almost possessively.

“If we exchange information and work together, the odds of such mistakes are greatly reduced. Lack of information and a lack of another perspective are the most common causes for mistakes, even or especially in such an endeavor.“ Dumbledore sounded more like a politician than a teacher, but his words did ring true. Since Hermione leaned back against Harry and sighed silently, she had to have recognized that as well.

His girlfriend wasn’t done yet, though. “And what if the Council’s policies towards enemies do offend you or your Order?”

“I assume you speak of the killing of Death Eaters.”

“And their supporters.”

“As regrettable as such actions are, I am no stranger to killing in a war. And neither are most of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Then why is Lucius Malfoy still alive then?” Now Hermione sounded passionate. The young witch leaned forward, and her movement in Harry’s lap almost distracted him from the discussion. “He tried to kill all muggleborn students at Hogwarts in our second year by setting a basilisk loose in the school! If not for his meddling, the Ministry might be fighting Voldemort, and Sirius and Professor Lupin wouldn’t be wanted men!”

Dumbledore closed his eyes, but nodded. “I know this, Miss Granger. Removing Lucius from the equation would greatly hamper Voldemort’s campaign for control of the Ministry. And yet such an attempt, even if it succeeds, could also greatly further Voldemort’s cause. If I were to be implicated in an assassination attempt on such a family, I would lose almost all that’s left of my reputation and influence, and Voldemort would surely exploit this to take control of the Ministry - and then send it after me and the Order, and after Harry.”

“I see.” Hermione ground the words out. Harry knew she didn’t want to admit the Headmaster had a point. He didn’t want to either. He wanted to see Lucius Malfoy dead before that Death Eater did any more harm to him and his friends.

“Though since Voldemort is likely to reside in Malfoy Manor, any attempt in Lucius’s home would be unlikely to succeed at this point anyway. And when he leaves his home, Lucius usually floos directly to the Ministry.”

“Where he is surrounded by Aurors and other potential witnesses.”

“Exactly, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore sounded like a teacher who just had a pupil answer a difficult question correctly. Harry half expected him to award house points.

“I will inform the Council.” Hermione didn’t sound as much convinced as resigned.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I think this will help everyone opposing Voldemort.” Dumbledore didn’t sound triumphant, but his satisfaction - and maybe relief - was not hidden. “Ah, there is Sirius.”

The door opened, and Sirius entered. “I am sorry for the delay, but the teapot was jinxed. I had a quite a bit of trouble dealing with it since Remus refused to undo whatever he did to it.” The tone of Harry’s godfather left no doubt that the werewolf would be pranked in return.

“Oh, I am sure it was just a magical mishap, and not a prank. Such things tend to happen in magical dwellings as old as this, Sirius.” Dumbledore smiled as he took his cup of tea.

Harry frowned. Sirius had returned to the library just when their discussion had finished. That was quite a coincidence. He glanced at Hermione, who frowned as well, then at the Headmaster who was by all appearances enjoying his tea. A coincidence, or a well-placed spell to make sure they’d not be interrupted. The upcoming meeting, should Hermione’s uncle agree to it, was bound to be interesting.

*****

“Do you trust him?”

Hermione Granger turned her head towards the not-so-secret-anymore door, where Harry was standing. He had not knocked, simply opened the door. Probably because he was focused on the discussion with Dumbledore they had earlier this day, but… “You didn’t check if I was decent before coming into my room.”

Harry blushed. “Ah… I was … I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Hermione made a dismissive gesture. She had already changed into her nightwear, after all. “I understand. That was quite the revelation today.” Patting the the spot next to her on her bed in an unspoken invitation, she continued. “I don’t know if I can trust him. The things he did and let happen to you… and yet I don’t know if we can afford to spurn his offer.”

Harry sat down next to her. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to her skimpy attire tonight. Hermione hoped that was just because his thoughts were otherwise occupied, and not because he was losing interest. “Yes. He is the most powerful wizard in Britain, after all. I am not certain Voldemort can be defeated without him. Not without paying a high price.”

It galled, but Hermione had to agree. “Yes. If he’s working with the Council, we should be able to find the location of Voldemort more quickly.”

“You don’t sound too certain.”

“I am not certain. Dumbledore is used to run everything - Hogwarts, the Wizengamot, the ICW.” She bit her lower lip, a habit she had not been able to lose, unlike chewing her hair. “I don’t know if he can work with others without trying to order them around.”

“If anyone can stand up to him, it’s your uncle. He doesn’t owe him anything, wasn’t raised in awe of him, and didn’t go to Hogwarts.” Harry pulled her closer to him, but not into his lap.

“Yes.” Hermione slid into his lap sideways and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ve informed my Uncle about the offer, he said he’ll have an answer tomorrow.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

Hermione sighed. “I am not. But… I’m being childish.”

“You’re the least childish girl I know.” He placed a brief kiss on her cheek.

That would have been more reassuring if Harry knew more girls. “It’s just… if the Council and the Order work together, where does that leave us? I want to help, not… clean the house for Molly Weasley like some maid.” She almost growled the last sentence.

“We will be helping. ‘The power he knows not’, remember? They can’t defeat him without us.”

“Without you, you mean. They might want to ‘keep me safe’ while you are risking your life.” Harry grew a bit tense, and she turned her head and glared at him. “Don’t you try to do that to me, Harry! I’ll not stay safe while you do something foolhardy!”

“Of course not. As long as you don’t try something foolhardy either.”

Mollified, she settled down again. “I never do anything foolhardy.” When her boyfriend coughed at that, she glared at him again, but to no effect. “Not as much as you, at least.”

Sighing, he conceded the point, but she had a feeling this was not over yet. She didn’t feel like pushing the matter though, and the two remained like that without saying anything, for a while.

*****

Quentin Travers was nervous, but didn’t show it - hopefully. He was about to meet Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards in Great Britain, and in a magical house. He had considered meeting the old wizard in the headquarters of the Council, but the slight advantage that would have granted him would not have been worth the security risk. They would be meeting at a safe house, even though that wouldn’t be that safe, given the capabilities of wizards. But visiting the place Mister Potter and Quentin’s grandniece were staying at was apparently impossible due to obscure magic. Hopefully his willingness to enter the magical world, and the lion’s den, so to speak, had made the desired impression anyway.

Quentin would have preferred not to meet the wizard, to keep the Watcher’s actions secret, do what was needed and then leave the wizards and witches to their antics again, but that was not an option anymore with their cover blown. Hermione had been very apologetic about the whole affair, but it wasn’t her fault - Quentin had known there was a risk of discovery, and Dumbledore had his reputation for a reason. One didn’t reach the positions he had held without a large amount of ruthlessness and guile.

Quentin was alone, apart from his driver and bodyguard. The anonymity of the wizards among the Watchers’ ranks was too useful to be sacrificed for a bit of additional security, and Quentin doubted even two or three of them together would be able to stand up to Dumbledore should the man plan something. Not magically, at least.

But the weight of the Browning Hi-Power under his left shoulder was not as reassuring as it should have been. Blessed silver bullets did help against some monsters, but unless the wizards brought a werewolf, it wouldn’t help that much - Quentin was not as fast with it as he had been in his youth, in the service. Still, Dumbledore was even older, so the Watcher might have a chance, should it come to it.

He ran his hand over his chest, where the medallion hung under his shirt. That was supposed to protect his mind. None of the wizards at headquarters had been able to overcome its protection, but then, they were not Dumbledore. He scoffed - he was starting to sound and think like one of those pureblood twits. For all his might and experience, Dumbledore was but a man, and a mortal, fallible one at that, as his recent past had proven. Quentin was a Watcher with decades of experience, and he’d not be cowed by rumor and hearsay.

He checked his watch. Five minutes to eight. His grandniece would be arriving with Potter and Dumbledore soon, under the guise of a special training session. Quentin approved of the precautions taken to preserve secrecy - as long as they were upheld. Two could keep a secret if one was dead, and all.

Five minutes later the doorbell rang. Quentin nodded to his bodyguard, who went to check the door. A minute later, Hermione, Mister Potter and a man that looked like Gandalf with no fashion sense entered the living room. Quentin hadn’t really believed that description when he had been told.

“Greetings, Mister Travers.” The wizard, wearing reading glasses and an overly friendly expression, smiled at him and offered his hand.

Quentin smiled back and shook it. “Welcome to my temporary abode, Mister Dumbledore.” He gestured at the couch and seats arranged around the coffee table, where a pot of tea had been prepared already. Quentin noted that both Hermione and Mister Potter were nervous but trying to hide it, and sitting close together. Good. They’d be on their guard then.

After everyone was seated and served, Quentin leaned back, teacup in hand. “You wished to meet with me, Mister Dumbledore.” He pretended not to notice the brief check the other man had performed before taking a sip from his cup.

“Indeed. As I represent the Order of the Phoenix, currently the only wizard organization opposing Voldemort, I do think it would be advisable for us to meet and compare notes, so to speak.”

“One would think the Ministry for Magic would be up in arms, with their greatest foe back from the dead, given your knowledge about the matter.” It was a cheap shot, but Quentin liked to take the man’s measure in a number of ways.

“Regrettably, our Minister for Magic is unwilling to face this particular truth. My star has been waning lately, outshone by the gold from Voldemort’s followers.” Dumbledore sighed.

“Such things happen.” Quentin nodded as if he accepted the excuse. Losing control of one’s puppet like that was inexcusable though, in his opinion. That was almost as bad as a Slayer going rogue, which would never happen under his watch. “I trust you have taken steps to correct the situation.”

Dumbledore kept smiling, but his eyes grew hard. “I have made arrangements to disprove those who slander me and Harry, but so far they have not born fruit and have only led to my people being in greater danger.”

“Mister Weasley,” Quentin said.

Mister Potter gasped, staring at the wizard. His Grandniece was more composed - chip of the old block, he thought proudly.

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded towards the couple. “Now, I might be mistaken, but I fear your own efforts in battling Voldemort have not met with more success than mine.”

The old codger was right, but Quentin was loathe to admit it. “We have had some success. A few of his followers were removed, and we made sure that his recruitment efforts among the vampires and other demons were foiled. We would have had more success without interference from your Ministry.” Choke on that, wizard!

“I see.” Dumbledore didn’t sound as if vampires or demons were much of a concern. Not many wizards did, unless they had personal experience with those monsters.

“So what exactly do you propose?” Quentin cut to the matter at hand.

“I propose we share what information we have, and coordinate our efforts. Between our two organizations, we should have both the knowledge and the means to vanquish Voldemort.”

“Sharing our information is quite risky. Who would have access to what we would tell you?” Information was power, but Quentin was all too aware of how leaks appeared in every organization. It wouldn’t be the first time the Order of the Phoenix had had a spy in it.

“Only myself, and those I trust completely.” Dumbledore sounded very convincing. Too convincing for Quentin’s taste.

“Would those include Severus Snape, former and possibly current Death Eater?” From the way Dumbledore lost his smile and Potter and Hermione gasped, that had hit a nerve.

“I trust Severus completely,” Dumbledore said, frowning.

“What? That foul, sadistic…” Potter was starting to rant, but Quentin’s grandniece managed to stop it.

The Watcher ignored the scene and focused on Dumbledore. “Given his reputation, I assume you consider him a spy for your Order.”

“That is correct, Mister Travers. I am sure you are familiar with the lengths one sometimes has to go to keep one’s cover.” Dumbledore nodded towards him, also ignoring the two children.

“I am also very much aware that spies are supposed to gather information, they are not privy to one’s own secrets, lest they spill them - under duress, or otherwise - to the enemy should they get caught.” Anyone who had been in the service would know that. If Dumbledore was such a fool…

“While I trust Severus to rather die than betray us, I can accept that reasoning.” So the old wizards was not as much of a fool as it had seemed - or he planned to betray their confidence. Not that Quentin planned to spill all his information.

“Who else will be informed then?”

“Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall.”

A man who was defeated and impersonated, and a school teacher. At least they were not traitors, but Quentin realized that Dumbledore was lacking competent help far more than he had expected. That was not a purely bad thing - it would mean the wizard would depend on the Council’s assets more. Which meant the Council would have greater pull.

Quentin nodded. “Acceptable. I’ll keep the information to those already involved intimately - the Slayer, her Watcher, and the Watchers assigned to the task of dealing with Voldemort and his followers directly.”

“Your wizards then.”

“Yes.” Quentin hadn’t expected the other to be ignorant of their own need for wizards, but it still vexed him to have it stated to clearly. Point Dumbledore. “So, what information do you have to share?”

“Apart from the prophecy you might already be aware of”, Dumbledore answered, with a glance towards the couple, who didn’t show any reaction, “there is the nature of the connection between Harry and Voldemort, and the means of the latter’s return from death.”

“And his suspected location,” Hermione added, which earned her another glance from the old wizard.

“That will only matter if we manage to render the Dark Lord mortal again.” It wasn’t quite a rebuke, but close. His grandniece raised her chin and met the wizard’s eyes with stubborn determination. She’d be a very good watcher in a few years, Quentin thought, not for the first time.

“We’ve got a lot of experience with both prophecies, and killing the so-called immortals. Would you mind elaborating on those points you mentioned?”

Dumbledore did retell the prophecy. Quentin didn’t fully agree with his interpretation, but one never knew for sure with those things anyway. He’d leave that to Rupert, who was somewhat of an expert for such. There was one point though…”Are you sure that the prophecy was not already fulfilled when Mister Potter destroyed the Dark Lord’s body for the first time?”

“Yes. The orb in the Hall of Prophecies is still active, so it has not yet come to pass.” Now that was information Quentin hadn’t known before.

“The Hall of Prophecies?”

“A room in the Department of Mysteries where true prophecies are stored. It’s well-protected, Voldemort’s attempts to gain entrance have been foiled once already. Keeping him from learning the full prophecy is one of the tasks of our Order.”

“Can those prophecy orbs be destroyed?” Destruction was one of the best ways to deny an enemy a crucial resource, in Quentin’s opinion. It removed temptation to use whatever dark magics were involved as well.

“Only the ones mentioned in the prophecy can even remove the orb from its place.” Dumbledore smiled confidently.

“Harry or Voldemort then.” Hermione had apparently had already thought of a solution. “We could swap it with a copy. Well, Harry could.”

“And interesting proposal with a lot of merit, I think.” Dumbledore smiled but Quentin couldn’t tell if he was serious, or just placating Hermione. His grandniece beamed - apparently she needed a bit more seasoning so she’d not fall for praise.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Quentin was not above using the same tactics, if they worked, and was rewarded with another beaming smile from the young witch and future Watcher. “But what about the way Voldemort cheated death?”

Dumbledore grew very serious, and spoke in a grave voice. “That is one secret that cannot be spread. Voldemort has worked the darkest of the dark arts. He has created Horcruxes.” When no one reacted to the word, he seemed content to explain. “Through an act of cold-blooded murder, he split his soul and placed a shard of it in an object, which serves as an anchor for his soul that keeps him from passing over as long as it is not destroyed.” When no one present showed much of a reaction, the old wizard frowned. Quentin didn’t know why - he had expected something far worse from the introduction. “It dooms him to an eternity in limbo, preventing him from entering the afterlife, but it makes him immortal as long as the Horcrux remains.”

“So,when we kill him he’ll be further punished for his sins after death?” Quentin could live with that. If it was the soul of an innocent that was doomed, that would be something else. He’d still have Voldemort killed, but he’d feel some regret.

“And I have reasons to suspect, good reasons, that Voldemort has created multiple Horcruxes, and hid them well. To find everyone of them, and destroy them, will be a task both difficult and dangerous.” That was a sobering prospect indeed.

“If they are connected to his soul then they should be able to be tracked through that. There might be a ritual for that we can use.” Quentin was no expert, but there were numerous works on souls in the Watchers’ library, given their importance for demons.

“Can we strike at the soul directly? If it is destroyed, wouldn’t that destroy the Horcruxes at the same time?” Hermione asked with obvious interest.

“Miss Granger!” Dumbledore sounded horrified. “Are you talking about destroying a soul?”

“Yes.” Quentin’s grandniece sounded as surprised at this reaction as himself. “If we could get a Dementor to suck out his soul, would that destroy the Horcruxes as well?”

While the old wizard was staring, Quentin couldn’t help but cutting in. “That would explain why those despicable demons are used for executions, if you have to fear any culprit’s return due to Horcruxes. It doesn’t excuse dealing with such horrible demons”, he added with a glance to his grandniece, “but it would explain why they are tolerated.” Pot, kettle, black, he added in his mind.

“I do not think that’s why those abominations are used in that capacity,” Dumbledore answered with strained dignity.

“But it’s common practice, sir. Sirius still has a kiss on sight order hanging over his head, and Barty Crouch Jr. was kissed last year.” Mister Potter sounded indignant at what he was likely to perceive as hypocrisy.

Dumbledore sighed. “I do hope we can deal with Voldemort without resorting to such methods, for there is another problem. Your scar, Harry. It may be a Horcrux.”

“What?!” Three voices yelled at the same time, and it took a while before Dumbledore was able to explain his suspicion. Not without wondering aloud why the Watchers had not noticed the peculiar nature of the scar, seeing as they had such experience with souls.

Quentin had to admit that he had had some suspicion, but nothing concrete, since they had had no opportunity so far to confirm some of their - now obsolete - theories. He was certain his grandniece would understand, once she got over the shock that her boyfriend was possibly a Horcrux. He wasn’t certain though if she would understand if they had to kill Potter. Hopefully they’d find a solution that would avoid that - Mister Potter and his grandniece would make good Watchers, after all.

*****

Harry might be a Horcrux. He might carry part of Voldemort’s soul in him. He might be a soul anchor, part of what kept Voldemort immortal. He might have to die so Voldemort could be killed. If the prophecy had been a shock, this was far beyond that. Hermione Granger’s mind was frantically trying to find a solution. If they couldn’t kill the soul without endangering Harry’s soul, that only left removing all those soul shards from wherever they were stuck in. They’d either be destroyed, or rejoined Voldemort’s soul. She had wanted to head straight to the library - to the libraries, first the Watchers’ library, then the Black Library - and devour all books on souls and soul magic she could find. But Harry had needed her - he had gone almost catatonic for a while, then had sunk into a depression no matter what she had tried to cheer him up. A failure which had led to her feeling depressed, which in turn had made Harry feel guilty.

The proposal from Dumbledore to sneak into the Department of Mysteries and exchange the prophecy orb for a copy had come at the right time, it allowed the two to keep their focus on something other than their respective failures, in Hermione’s opinion. In theory. She was still thinking about what she could do, without finding a solution, even now, waiting in the floo room at Grimmauld Place past midnight. Hopefully Harry would be doing better. She glanced at him, and knew he wasn’t. Sighing, she stepped closer to him and hugged him. Feeling him so close, with his hands caressing her hair and rubbing her back, she felt a tiny bit better, and hoped he did as well. She didn’t look at his face to check though. She was too afraid she’d be wrong again.

The mission, to use Sirius’s words, was quite simple. They’d sneak in using the same way and route as the Order members who stood guard at the corridor leading to the Hall of Prophecies usually took, covered by Harry’s cloak of invisibility. Entering the hall itself would be a bit tricky, but Dumbledore, who’d take them there himself, covered by a disillusion spell, was quite positive he’d manage. Following Dumbledore sounded quite less dangerous than most of the adventures the two of them and Ron had been through in the last few years, but then… the Department of Mysteries sounded far more ominous than most of what they had faced as well.

Hermione didn’t know how long they had remained in each other’s arms, trying to find a modicum of solace in each other, and at best having minimal success, until Dumbledore arrived.

“Hello Harry, Miss Granger. Are you ready for our jaunt?”

The couple separated, slowly, and kept holding hands while nodding. “Yes, sir,” they said.

“Splendid! Let us be off then!”

Dumbledore sounded far too cheerful for the occasion, Hermione found. But it might be his attempt to cheer Harry up. A selfish part of her hoped he’d fail more than she had. She tried to suppress that part, but with mixed success.

The Headmaster side-apparated them to a spot near the entrance to the Ministry - a telephone booth, of all things. Hermione couldn’t keep from giggling. When the two wizards looked at her in surprise, she whispered: “Dr. Who”, which made Harry smile, but left Dumbledore lost. “I’ll explain later,” she said.

“Very well.” The old wizard led them inside the booth, and with a flick of his wand silenced the voice asking their names and purpose of visiting, and took control of the disguised elevator. A brief trip later they were in the atrium, all of them invisible now. “Enter the elevator I just marked with the blue light,” Dumbledore whispered, and Hermione noticed a small blue light over one of the doors opposite their spot. Harry had noticed it as well, and the two started towards it.

Hermione felt a bit nostalgic, sharing the cloak with Harry. In a way it was like in their first year. But both had grown since, and now had to stick much closer together to avoid their feet becoming visible. Not that Hermione minded being close to Harry. As soon as they had entered the other elevator it started to descend - Dumbledore must have a way to spot them despite the cloak, she realized. Before she could dwell on possible ways to achieve that, they reached their destination.

“Usually an Order guard would be here, but I took over this shift for tonight,” Dumbledore explained while he led them past a pillar with a floating blue light this time.

Hermione felt Harry tense up, and realized that this was where he had seen Mister Weasley getting attacked. She pressed herself into his back even more, and and felt him stiffen up again - hopefully that was a good sign.

With each step they took towards the entrance at the end of the corridor, Hermione felt more nervous. Wouldn’t there be spells to ward off intruders? Traps to capture them, or worse? Alarms to alert Aurors to the intrusion? Had the Headmaster removed them all, silently? And if he had managed that, what about Voldemort? By the time they reached the door, the young witch was almost certain that the corridor was longer than it appeared, and that a trap was waiting at the door, or past it.

She was proven wrong - so far. Dumbledore had the door open in a few minutes, though she heard him cast almost continuously this time, until the door moved, revealing a large hall with countless shelves full of blue orbs.

The blue light following Dumbledore’s disillusioned form led them to a shelf a bit to the back, and ended hovering in front of a particular orb - the prophecy involving Harry and Voldemort. Harry pulled out the decoy, and easily swapped the two. As far as adventures went, it was almost anticlimactic, Hermione found, no matter how much that was a good thing. A bit of a fight, or at least a trap, would have helped Harry out of his funk, she was certain of that.

*****

“Mister Malfoy?” The guard at the docks of Azkaban looked surprised. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Lucius Malfoy frowned. “I was called by the DMLE to come here at once, despite the fact it was the middle of the night, because there was an emergency involving my sister in law. Are you telling me you have no idea about this? Is the DMLE in the habit of pranking citizens now?” He took a step out of the barge that had brought him to the island, the picture of an outraged pureblood victim of a bureaucratic screw up.

“No, no, I am sure this will all be cleared at once by the Warden. Please follow me.” The guard on night shift was so flustered by the threat of bearing the brunt of the anger of the close friend of the Minister, he failed to notice how the barge, who had been quite low in the water, rose steadily. Nor did he hear the creaking footsteps on the docks. He did hear the words of the Killing Curse, but only managed to turn around in time to be hit in the chest by it, instead of in the back.

Lucius paid no attention to the corpse; he was staring at the Dementors that had started to surround him. He could feel their aura, could feel the cold gripping his limbs, the terror taking hold of him, when next to him, the Dark Lord became visible and faced the demons guarding the most secure prison of Wizarding Britain. His mere presence drove the floating Dementors back, and Lucius sighed with relief. He fervently hoped that no matter whatever deal the Dark Lord struck with the foul monsters, they would not end up taking up residence at his manor. His sister in law and her husband and his brother would be bad enough.

In front of him the Dark Lord was talking with one of the demons, face to face, braving whatever unholy terror their hoods usually hid without flinching. Both were speaking a guttural, inhuman language that sent shivers of dread down Lucius’s spine, trying to make him flee and hide, but he withstood the atavistic urge. He was a Malfoy, not some coward.

After ten tense minutes, the Dementor nodded, and floated away, followed by the dozens of his ilk also present, towards the prison tower. Soon the small group at the docks heard screams of terror and anguish, half a dozen and more voices crying out, silenced one by one. Then the Dementors floated towards them again, more numerous this time. The Dark Lord pointed out to the sea before the cold and dread became unbearable, and the demons turned, heading towards the shores of Britain.

“Come, let us liberate our comrades, unjustly imprisoned for over a decade!” The Dark Lord set out for the prison, and a still shaking Lucius followed.

*****


	10. Plots and Plans

**Chapter 10: Plots and Plans**

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at but not seeing the lemon drop bowl on his desk. His thoughts were focused on what Mister Travers had told him at their meeting.

“We also have found out that a vampire witch is working for Voldemort. She’s been recruiting the other vampires in Britain - until we put a stop to that. But she’s still at large.”

Who could that be? What poor witch would have been suffering such a fate, without the Aurors tracking the walking corpse down and disposing of it? If only a wizard or witch had seen her, he would have been able to procure a memory to study. Descriptions were not good enough to identify her. The Watchers had said they’d create a sketch, but Dumbledore hadn’t much hope of that producing a usable portrait.

He wondered if he had known her, before her death. Who could say, with how long vampires could exist when not destroyed. She might not even be British. And yet he could not shake the feeling that she was, and that he had known her, and failed her. So many children had passed through his school, he felt responsible for each and every one of them. He knew they made their own decisions, had to make their own decisions, but if he maybe just been a bit sterner, or more lenient, or simply had paid a bit more attention…

Sighing, he nodded at Fawkes, who had made inquiring noises for a few minutes now. “I am just thinking of the past, Fawkes. A foible of old people like me.”

The phoenix trilled in a way that lifted the Headmaster’s spirit, and went back to grooming his right wing.

Albus’s thoughts returned to the mysterious vampire witch again. If only he had a name… Could he ask Severus to find out? It would increase the risks his spy braved already, but there were reasons that wizards and witches who had gotten turned were hunted down and destroyed, and it would strengthen the still fresh and fragile alliance with the Watchers Council. Yes, it was worth the risk, he decided.

The Council member he had met, Quentin Travers, had been… interesting. Miss Granger’s great-uncle was a hard man, no doubt. A man with a mission and iron determination, who’d not let anything, or anyone, come between him and his goals. A man willing, or so Albus assumed, to walk down the road to hell with his head held high, firm in his belief that he was doing the right thing, no matter the costs. A man like Albus’s old friend, Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus sighed. The memories that thought brought up caused more pain and guilt - none of it misplaced, he knew. If only he had, or hadn’t… Arianna might still be alive. The old wizard closed his eyes, willing that particular memory away. As always, the temptation to extract that scene and store it in a vial, or even destroy it, rose, and as he had always done, he resisted. This was part of his penance for his sins, and he’d take this memory with him into the grave, a painful reminder of how fallible he was.

Gellert had been convinced that what he was doing was for the greater good, that his ends justified his means. Mister Travers seemed to hold similar beliefs. Neither was entirely wrong, but there came a point where one was doing more harm than good, where the means one was using poisoned the ends, irrevocably. Would he be able to do what was needed, should Mister Travers cross that line, even though it might alienate Harry and Miss Granger, or, even worse, drive them down a similar path?

He knew the answer, had it known ever since that most famous duel of his. In his own way, he was cut from the same cloth, doing what was right, no matter the cost - to himself, or to others.

With an effort, he forced his thoughts on a more practical matter. The Hall of Prophecies. The prophecy had been removed from its place there, but Voldemort didn’t know that. There was still a chance that he’d try to recover it personally, exposing himself in the process. But as poor Arthur had shown, stationing a guard there was too risky. The loss of one Order member would be a terrible, but acceptable price to pay to expose the Dark Lord, and at last have the Ministry mobilized. But odds were, such a guard would be dealt with by a mere Death Eater, or even an unwilling tool of Voldemort, and if caught himself, could be twisted to harm the Order’s cause. It couldn’t be helped; he had to speak to the Unspeakables.

His thoughts on how best to broach the subject were interrupted by the fireplace flaring up in his office, and Alastor’s head appearing.

“Albus! I am coming through. There was a break-out at Azkaban.”

*****

Quentin Travers dropped the Daily Prophet on his desk. A dozen of the worst Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban? Even worse, the demons they used to guard that prison having disappeared after murdering the guards - by eating their souls? Just when he had thought the wizards were not completely hopeless, this had to happen to prove him wrong!

He looked up at Fitzburg, who had brought the newspaper to him. “What’s the reaction in the streets?”

“Panic, sir. Whoever is not hiding in their homes is out in front of the Ministry and screaming for something, anything to be done right now.” Fitzburg’s tone betrayed the disdain he held for either reaction.

Quentin understood the feeling better than most. Usually he’d caution or even censure Watchers for showing disdain for the people they were protecting, but since those were wizards and witches, and not normal humans, he let it go. It would even help, should the Council have to take action against the Wizards, one day. “The articles are claiming that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are the culprits. I assume the Ministry is still not ready to face the fact that their Dark Lord has returned?”

“Correct, sir. And no one I have seen seems to have understood that their own use of such demons as guards is at fault for the current situation.”

Fitzburg had a talent for the understatement Quentin approved of. Not many would call a horde of soul-eating demons loose in Britain, demons only a handful of the Watchers could even see, a ‘situation’, and not a catastrophe.

“The Dementors have to be our priority. Those abominations cannot be allowed to prey on humans. The wizard enclaves will be protected by their Aurors, but I doubt they will do much for the rest of the population. I want every able Watcher on the lookout for them, and the Slayer ready to intercept and destroy them wherever they are found. And let us hope we’ll find a scrying spell that will work on those fiends.” If they did not, then a great number of people would be killed, would lose their souls even, to those monsters.

“That may bring us into contact, or even conflict, with the wizard authorities, sir.”

“You are correct, but it’s a risk we have to take. We will not let such fiends feed on humans.”

“Yes, sir.” Fitzburg nodded, and left Quentin’s office.

Quentin stood up and walked to the window. Somewhere out there, invisible to him and most of humanity, those fiends were hunting, preying on people. ‘Let’s hope they followed the Dark Lord, and he’s keeping them on a short leash,’ he thought, his lips compressed into a thin line and his expression as grim as he was feeling.

He didn’t like it, but he needed a better line of communication to Dumbledore. Maybe one of those communication mirrors Mister Potter had received for christmas. He certainly wasn’t about to stick his head into a fireplace, especially not one under the control of the Ministry of Magic.

For now though he had another duty to fulfill. In accordance with treaties centuries old, Her Majesty’s government had to be informed of this threat to Her subjects, and of the Watchers’ response. If only so they knew how to cover up the deaths the foolish wizards missed.

*****

“P-pardon me, Miss.”

Hermione whipped her head around and glared at whoever dared to interrupt her research. She had only one day left of her holiday, and she needed to make the most of it before she returned to Hogwarts and lost her easy access to the Watchers’ Library. She saw a not quite middle-aged man take a step back.

“Yes?” The word slipped out before she realized that she was glaring at a Watcher.

“Hello, Miss. My name is Rupert Giles. D-do you need the C-Codex of the C-Coven right now?” The man was not unattractive for his age - distinguished, well-dressed, if a bit old-fashioned. He even seemed to be a bit timid, as unlikely as that might be for a Watcher.

“Hello, sir, I am Hermione Granger.” The young witch hoped she was not showing her embarrassment at her own rudeness as clearly as she felt it. “No, I do not currently need it. I already checked the relevant passages. Please excuse my lapse in manners, with the current events I am a bit stressed.”

“Ah, yes. Your great-uncle has everyone we c-can spare looking for ways to d-deal with t-those D-Dementors. Dreadful beasts, if I do say so myself.” His eyes briefly glanced at the other tomes on Hermione’s table. “Is that Guilberto’s ‘Extract on the Afterlife’? I would not have expected him to cover Dementors.”

“You are correct. I am looking into soul magic. Dementors are said to eat souls, so I think that might be a possible vulnerability.” Hermione was actually looking into ways to deal with a soul fragment, and Dementors topped her - sadly short - list, but that was not something to be announced, not with such an important secret behind it.

“That’s a quite original approach. I would not have thought of it myself. D-Do you mind if I join you? It seems more productive than sifting through lore others have read already.”

Hermione did mind, but could not say so. It seemed she’d have to research Dementors more than expected today. “Of course not. Please have a seat.” She gestured at the chair in front of her, and levitated the stack of books there off it with her second wand.

If the display of magic surprised Mister Giles, he did not show it as he sat down. Soon both were reading and making notes, occasionally commenting on something that caught their attention. Mister Giles turned out to be a man with a fascinating knowledge of the arcane, even though he was unable to use a wand. But the rituals he mentioned in passing sounded intriguing. Hermione felt that this interruption would prove very beneficial to her goal.

*****

“Oof!”

Harry grunted when he hit the - fortunately padded - wall again in his attempt to dodge. Training with Watcher Walker was quite different from training with Sirius and Remus, or Hermione and Ron. Walker, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a sharp nose, reminded him of Moody - the fake one he had known for a year, at least. All that mattered to the Watcher was to kill the enemy before he killed you. At least he didn’t shout ‘Constant Vigilance’ all the time, but he didn’t seem to care at all how painful his lessons were. He wasn’t even a wizard - he used a paintball gun to teach Harry ‘to dodge attacks and remain aware of his surroundings while in combat’.

“You forgot about how close you were to the wall again, Mister Potter. In a real fight, you’d be dead by now - or about to be drained. Get up, we’ll start again.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry was glad Hermione was researching soul magic and skipping training. He didn’t know if he’d be able to watch his girlfriend getting shot with plastic balls fast enough to leave large and painful bruises. He got up and cast a Scourgify on himself, removing half a dozen brightly-colored stains.

Walker reloaded his gun, and turned back towards him, firing without any signal. Harry had expected that though, this time, and dove to the ground, rolling behind a small obstacle. A flick of his wand had the wooden crate levitating in front of him, serving as a shield. He wasn’t allowed to fire back, but he could use his wand to protect himself by affecting the environment. Two paintballs hit the wood, and splattered their load over it.

“Good idea, Mister Potter. Let’s see how well you can move it!”

Walker was already sprinting to the side, and Harry had trouble keeping the crate between himself and the Watcher. When Walker got close enough, he had to drop the crate and jump away to avoid getting hit. He landed on the ground, but before he could get up a paintball had hit him into the head, turning half his black hair orange.

“You should have jumped behind, not in front of cover. Get up and we’ll do it again.”

“Yes, sir.” He hoped Hermione had a better afternoon than him.

*****

India Cohen was annoyed. She shouldn’t be - she was hunting Dementors, patrolling a coastal town near the spot where the ferry to Azkaban departed. She could almost smell the monsters floating ashore there. If it was summer she’d even have a trail of dead plants, victims of the cold aura of the fiends, to follow. Since it was the midst of winter, she wasn’t that lucky. Still, she was on the prowl and wasn’t cooped up in some building while demons roamed the country.

But she wasn’t with Kit, but with Fitzburg! Just because Kit couldn’t see Dementors didn’t mean he had to stay home! ‘A liability’, Fitz had called him - to her face! - when she had protested. India really wished that she didn’t need a wizard able to apparate in case someone else found the monsters. She would be able to teach Fitzburg who was a liability otherwise.

“Do you feel anything?” Fitzburg asked, not for the first time.

“No.” If she had sensed anything, she’d have said so. Dumbass.

“This area might be free of them then.”

“Too close to my dream. They have to be here.” She had seen a house just like those, at the shore. Fishermen, or former fishermen.

“We’ll continue then.” Fitzburg didn’t sound as if he believed her. Kit would have.

The two walked on, passing more cottages. Then, around a bend of the road, India saw it. The house from her dream.

“That’s it!” she all but shouted, and sprinted ahead. She didn’t listen to Fitzburg calling for her to wait. That was the house from her dream. She jumped over the low fence, onto the well-tended lawn. Gravel crunched under her boots when she reached the path to the house. Then she saw the door - and the gap it left.

Cursing, she ran, pushed it open, then stopped. It was just like in her dream - she had arrived too late.

“India, you cannot just…” Fitzburg’s lecture ended when he reached her side, and saw the bodies.

“They were here.” And she hadn’t been in time.

“We know their likely point of entry now. That will make finding them easier.” Fitzburg’s words were a weak consolation in the face of a dead family, but India nodded. She’d find them, and kill them. And then she’d be back with her Watcher.

*****

The lights were on - Emmeline Vance was at home. For a moment, Severus Snape considered warning her. He could send a Patronus, and the attack would fail. But it would damage his standing with the Dark Lord. His cover. He had to have the Dark Lord’s trust. Now more than ever, with so many of his most faithful followers free again. Vance would understand, not that she’d ever know, that no price was too high to pay for the final defeat of Voldemort. Not even his own life.

He turned towards the masked men with him. “She’s home. Cast the jinxes to block her Floo connection and Apparition, then attack the wards. We have but a few minutes to deal with her. The Dark Lord won’t tolerate failure.”

The half a dozen Death Eaters nodded, and fanned out. Soon colorful spells were clashing with the wards on the house. Vance would be aware of the attack now. Would be aware she was trapped. Would be aware she was doomed. Would she cry, or curse? Severus sent an attack of his own at the wards. There was no time for speculation.

It took a minute to bring down the wards. A Death Eater blew the door open with a Reducto, another rushed in - and was blown out right away, his skull crushed by a Bludgeoning Curse. An amateur, Severus thought, an untrained thug, like so many others. Missions such as those served to weed out the thugs too, he knew that. The Dark Lord didn’t tolerate weakness.

“Keep the door and windows covered. I’ll get the backdoor open.” Severus moved around the house as green spells flew through the hole in the front. Just as he disabled the alarm spell on the backdoor and opened it, the ground shook - someone had cast a Bombarda. Since the house was still standing, it had to have been Vance. That meant the screams came from another idiot. One less follower of the Dark Lord - hardly a compensation for the loss the Order would suffer today, but better than nothing. If not for the need to impress the Dark Lord, he would let Vance slaughter all the dunderheads with him.

Severus entered the house, wand ready. His enchanted mask didn’t impede his vision, but provided no advantage either. Something he felt he should rectify one of those days. Vance had to be in the living room, judging from the sounds he heard. Good - she was still focused on the other. The door to the room was not closed. He peered through the small gap into the room, but couldn’t see the witch. For a second he hesitated - should he open the door slowly, and hope she didn’t notice? He decided against it. Too risky.

He kicked the door open and leaned inside. Vance was fast. She had turned already, and was about to cast when his Killing Curse caught her in the chest. The witch fell over with a surprised expression and was dead before she reached the ground. The idiots outside were still firing spells at the house.

“She’s dead! We’re done here! Return now!”

As the telltale sounds of apparition reached his ears, after they had taken down the jinxes, he realized that he might have faked Vance’s death and still earned Voldemort’s trust. Then he told himself that the witch wouldn’t have hidden for the rest of the war, and would have likely blown his cover. He apparated back to where the group had gathered before the mission, a safe house of no importance. The men were already telling tales of bravery and skill that had no base in reality. He let them - they didn’t matter, and overconfidence would hopefully thin their numbers soon. The Dark Lord was waiting for his report.

Afterwards Severus would inform Dumbledore of what had happened, though he’d have to downplay his own role. He wasn’t sure how understanding the Headmaster would be should he tell the truth. He’d still offer to take over the position as professor for Defense against the Dark Arts, of course. Maybe losing another professor before her term even started might finally make Dumbledore see reason and let him teach what he should have been teaching years ago.

*****

Hogwarts had not changed over the holidays, Ron Weasley told himself while waiting at his customary place near the painting of the Fat Lady for his fellow prefect for their patrol. The castle had not. But the inhabitants had. The news from Azkaban had shaken everyone. Even the teachers were affected, though they tried to hide it. The students though… with the exception of a few particularly stupid Slytherins, everyone was afraid, nervous, or at least faked it. And that changed the castle. It was hard to feel safe when around you everyone was afraid, often huddling together and jumping at shadows.

It was understandable though - the Ministry was blaming Sirius Black and Remus Lupin for the breakout. One of them had broken into Hogwarts several times two years ago, and the other had taught there for a year. It was not too far-fetched to fear them returning, despite the wards and Dumbledore’s presence. And if they brought the Dementors with them… that was something Ron was afraid of. He knew Sirius and Remus were innocent, but Voldemort had taken the Dementors with him from Azkaban. The young wizard remembered his encounters with them in third year, and shivered. At least Ron, Harry and Hermione sneaking off to train was not drawing any attention in the current climate, especially not since they now had the full support of Dumbledore. They’d need it - with Professor Vance dead before the start of the term, and the fear of the Death Eaters running rampant, the Ministry had sent a veteran Auror as a replacement teacher. According to what Ron had heard, Gawain Robards was not nearly as useless as the Aurors who had been stationed here as guards.

“You’re so brave.” Lavender had stepped out of the Gryffindor common room. The pretty witch shuddered and grabbed his arm. “I would not be able to wait here, alone… not with those monsters out there.”

Ron wanted to hug her and make her feel safe and secure then. With his arm in a vice-like grip, he couldn’t. Instead he reached over with his right arm, and ruffled Lavender’s hair. “I’ve been through worse.” He tried to sound more confident than he was feeling.

“That’s right! You were attacked by Sirius Black twice! And once by the werewolf! And Dementors!” Lavender was looking at him as if he was … well, it was all true. Even though she didn’t know what had really happened. “I wish I was as brave as you!”

“You are a Gryffindor, you are brave. You’re just smart enough not to run blindly into danger like a fool.” From the way she smiled, it had been the right thing to say. Who would have thought a lecture from Hermione would come in handy with Lavender? “Let’s go then. The sooner we start the sooner we are done.”

She nodded, still holding on to his left arm, but relaxed her grip once they started walking. After a while, it was as it had been, before the holidays - two people taking a stroll. And his arm was getting pressed against Lavender’s right side, and her chest, from time to time. They passed the first Auror on their route without a word until they were out of earshot.

“We’re safe at Hogwarts. Not even Vol... You-Know-Who dared to attack the castle, not with Dumbledore here.” Ron almost had said “Voldemort”. Hermione and Harry were a bad influence - he didn’t want to scare Lavender. He felt guilty enough for keeping what was really happening from the girl.

“Do… do you think he is really back? You-Know-Who?” Lavender asked in a whisper, as if the Dark Lord would jump out from the shadows any second and kill her.

“Yes,” Ron answered, without thinking about it. He had not believed Harry once, during the Tournament, and he’d not repeat that mistake again.

Lavender gasped. “B... but… the Ministry said he’s dead.”

“Fudge is in the pocket of Malfoy, who is a Death Eater. As long as Malfoy pays him enough, Fudge will say anything.” Ron repeated what his father had said about the issue, before he was attacked at the Ministry. His dad was recovering, but he was still at St. Mungo’s.

“But he was under the Imperius…”

“That was a lie. Harry saw him crawling back to You-Know-Who last year.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Why would Harry lie? Why would Dumbledore lie?”

“I don’t know. But he can’t be back! He can’t!” Lavender was almost crying, and this time Ron did hug her, and held her until she had calmed down.

*****

“This is useless! There’s nothing here about souls. Nothing useful at least,” Hermione Granger declared to her friends. She didn’t slam the book she had been reading closed, of course - books deserved respect and care, no matter if they were useful for her current task or not.

Harry and Ron looked up from their homework - she had finished hers hours before - and nodded in agreement. Which meant they were humoring her.

“It’s as if the library, even the restricted section, has been sanitized of such knowledge.” Hermione huffed. The mere thought of knowledge being suppressed vexed her on a primal level. It was simply so wrong!

“They probably did exactly that, to avoid someone else following in Voldemort’s footsteps,” Harry commented. He didn’t sound as depressed as he had right after that meeting between Hermione’s great-uncle and the Headmaster, but she didn’t like his fatalistic undertone.

“You’re right. I’ll have to search through the Black Library then. And the Watchers’, if I can manage that,” Hermione declared.

“Both are in London. What will you do until our next break?”

“I’ll not wait so long.” She could not wait so long. She needed find a way to save Harry now. “I’ll floo there.”

“What?” Ron blinked. “That’s against the rules.” He had been saying that more often since he had become a prefect. It figured, Hermione thought, that he’d start becoming more responsible when they couldn’t afford it.

“Sod the rules! We need to beat Voldemort.” And save Harry. “Everything else is of secondary importance compared to that. I am sure the Headmaster will agree.” And if he didn’t, she’d do it anyway.

“But can you manage it, Hermione? You’re like… you remember third year?” Harry spoke tentatively.

“I’ll manage.” She wasn’t fourteen anymore. She could do it.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Harry stood up and had her in his arms before she could answer.

“I won’t.” Didn’t he know that he was more important? Even if she burned out like in third year, it would be worth it if it saved him.

“Please.” Harry touched her cheek, and bent forward. Hermione wanted to avoid his eyes, but she couldn’t. Not when he looked at her like that, with such concern - and such love.

“I won’t hurt myself.” No more than she needed, in any case.

When the two kissed, Hermione felt guilty for lying to Harry. But she would feel even more guilty if she did not enough to save him. Or so she told herself when she wiped tears from her eyes.

*****

Draco Malfoy smiled as he walked down the corridor on his patrol. He barely paid attention to Pansy Parkinson’s prattling. He had passed a wonderful vacation, shown his skill and power to the Dark Lord himself, and now he was back at Hogwarts, ready to do his Lord’s bidding. He had nothing to fear from the Dementors and escaped prisoners that had everyone else terrified. Even Pansy, for all his assurances that purebloods of the right kind were safe, was afraid of them. Or she acted as if she was, in the hopes of him comforting her. He would do it, of course - it was the proper thing to do, and Pansy was a pureblood with impeccable ancestry. He might even marry her, after Hogwarts, provided there was no better offer.

In the meantime though she was a bit of a hindrance. He could trust Crabbe and Goyle, they had gone through the same trials as he had, but Pansy had not. Her father was a follower, but had not yet introduced his daughter, and so she might not know how things would be done. As a girl, she might even take offense of how mudbloods and blood traitors were to be treated, to teach them their place.

No, he would have to bide his time until he could strike at the mudbloods and traitors infesting the halls of Hogwarts. But strike he would.

*****

“And this is the Hall of the Prophecies, my friend. All the prophecies ever made are gathered here, so the Ministry can act upon them whenever there is a need.”

Lucius Malfoy had kept smiling as the fool of a Minister had kept prattling during their tour through the Department of Mysteries, but after thirty tiresome minutes they were finally where he needed to be. “Very Impressive, Cornelius. It must be guarded very well from intruders, given its importance.”

“Indeed. The prophecies themselves can only be removed by those mentioned in them, but the only entrance is this door, and it’s sealed by spells only the Unspeakables know, and only opens for them - or for the Minister’s seal.” The fat fool showed him the seal dangling from a chain around his neck. “As you can see it’s perfectly safe.”

“I am glad. The thought of Black getting his hands on such prophecies is too horrible to contemplate.”

“Fear not, we’ll soon apprehend him and his werewolf accomplice, and all the escaped prisoners, and we’ll have them kissed… err, we’ll send them through the Veil!”

“Of course, Cornelius.” Long practice kept the smile on Lucius’ face from showing his disdain for the fool as he noted the arrangements in the hall. The Dark Lord would not be happy to know he’d have to pick up the prophecy personally, unless Rookwood found a way around that. Lucius had no trouble feigning fear when they entered the next room and Cornelius mentioned the escaped prisoners, and how they made life difficult for the government, again.

*****


	11. Spy Games

**Chapter 11: Spy Games**

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the Floo in No 12 Grimmauld Place and nodded at Remus and young Nymphadora. He acted as if he had not seen just how close the two had been standing together when he had arrived, and hid his smile at the way both were acting as if they had been standing guard there until he had passed them. Young love - always a heartwarming sight, doubly so during dark times such as those Wizarding Britain currently found itself in.

On the way to the salon where the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix would be held he looked into the library. As expected Miss Granger was there, studying ancient tomes. She glanced up briefly when the door opened, noded at him and went straight back to reading and taking notes. Harry’s friend had been taking the revelation about the nature of his scar not well and was determined to find a solution. Albus had allowed her to leave Hogwarts in the evenings and travel by Floo to Sirius’s home so she could research in the Black Family Library. It had been an easy decision - if he hadn’t, the young witch would have gone anyway, and the still fragile trust Albus had managed to regain would have been destroyed. That was enough of a reason to allow this, and to cover her absence up as ‘special lessons’ by himself. The Headmaster didn’t think Miss Granger would succeed in her task, but one could always hope.

His mood more sombre, he continued through the corridor, past old paintings whose inhabitants tracked him with wary expressions, to the salon. Most of the members of the Order would be already there, availing themselves of the wonders of Molly’s cooking.

*****

“The Aurors have had all leave canceled. We’re doing double shifts at times, going after anything or anyone that might lead us to the escaped prisoners.” Young Nymphadora pouted, obviously not impressed with what she was reporting, even though it might appear to be a good thing to those not familiar with the state of the country. Albus knew that for all the effort the Ministry was making, it was still misguided and foolish, dancing to the tune of Lucius Malfoy’s gold. 

After a glance to Remus that was not quite as subtle as she might have thought, the young metamorphmagus continued: “The main suspects are still Remus and Sirius. There are still kiss on sight orders for both of them.”

“I thought the Dementors had rebelled?” William Weasley cut in.

“They have. We’re also supposed to track them down and return them to Azkaban. The Minister apparently believes that their absence is just a temporary thing, and that they might be hunting the escaped prisoners.” Nymphadora’s expression left no doubt about her opinion on that.

“Everytime I think I have the measure of Fudge, he proves me wrong by doing something even more stupid than before.” Sirius shook his head.

“Aye. That fool is setting new records even for ministers. He’s a hand puppet for Malfoy, nothing more. A few of my old friends still in the Ministry can rant for hours about him, and yet they continue to do his bidding,” Alastor added, before taking a sip from his ever-present flask. Albus didn’t think it was healthy, drinking so much, but his old friend didn’t expect to survive this war. Having been taken prisoner by Barty Crouch Jr. had had an effect on the previously unshakable retired Auror.

“We should take dear Lucius out.” Sirius bared his teeth in a caricature of a smile, full of loathing. Neither he nor Remus were taking their enforced inactivity well, Albus knew that. And yet there was no choice - it was too dangerous for either to leave the house, unless there was an emergency. Hopefully training Harry would be enough to keep them from doing anything rash. 

“Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of, Black?” Severus sneered at his old rival. Or nemesis. “I don’t see you doing anything.”

“This is not the time for childish spats.” Albus glared at both his Potions Master and their host before either could escalate the matter. When both had stood down, he nodded and addressed the rest of the Order: “I have good news. I have made contact with a small group of wizards who believe in Voldemort’s return, and they are willing to fight him.”

“New members, Headmaster?” Arthur, finally healthy again, smiled. 

“I would say allies. They are not ready to join the Order.” Not that he had asked them, of course. “They are mostly muggleborn wizards, and they seem to have been a bit disillusioned by Wizarding Britain’s society.” Which was putting it mildly. Albus had known that prejudices against muggleborns had not gone away since Voldemort’s first defeat, but he had not been aware just how bad things were. He doubted any pureblood had realized what the life of a muggleborn was like in Wizarding Britain, but that did not excuse his own ignorance. He should have known, should have done something.

“Are they any good with their wands?” Alastor sounded doubtful. He knew different, of course, since Albus had informed him of his alliance with the Council. But such a question would have been expected of him by the others.

“They are quite experienced. Lacking employment opportunities in Britain despite their grades, they took to working abroad, often in quite dangerous positions.” Albus saw William nod. The young Curse-Breaker knew from experience what Albus implied. Mercenaries. Albus wasn’t happy to fool his friends like this, but Mister Travers had been quite clear about who he’d accept being trusted with information about the Council.

“If they’re old enough they’re good enough then. Certainly better than most of the pampered purebloods in Britain.” Alastor made no secret about who he included in that, and many of the members present bristled at the insinuation. The old Auror just scoffed. “We’ll still need to get used to work together.”

“There will be opportunities to fight side by side, and take each other’s measure, Alastor,” Albus stated with a smile. He already knew of one of such, but spreading that information in this meeting would endanger its source. He trusted his friends, but there were ways to make anyone talk. “Miss Granger has provided us with enchanted galleons which will allow us to alert each other if there’s an emergency.” Quite the ingenious variant of the Protean Charm - N.E.W.T. level magic, in her 5th year! The Headmaster was looking forward to what Miss Granger would achieve once she finished Hogwarts.

“That will cut down on our response time a lot.” William smiled.

“Aye. We might even arrive at a raid before the Death Eaters have left already.” Alastor sounded gruff, but he had been quite happy about the galleons when he had heard of them.

*****

“Miss Granger? It’s time to return to Hogwarts.”

Hermione Granger looked up with an annoyed expression at the interruption. When she saw it was the Headmaster, she swallowed what she had been about to say, and blinked. “Is the meeting of the Order already over?”

“It’s past eleven, Miss Granger. I dare say your friends are waiting for your safe return.”

“Oh.” She was tempted to stay a bit longer, but she didn’t want to push the Headmaster, after he had shown to be so helpful. And Harry would be worried if she stayed too long. He was training with Ron in the Room of Requirement. She gathered her notes and stashed them in her bag. The young witch still had nothing concrete, but she had found a report of a soul restoration ritual done in the Vatican after a particularly nasty demon attack on a Cardinal in the 1550s. No details about it, alas, but she was sure the Watchers Library should have more information, given how often they used blessed weapons and holy water. But with the traveling time that visiting Uncle Quentin entailed, she wouldn’t be able to research that until the weekend.

Sighing, she joined the old wizard at the door. He didn’t ask if she had found anything - her mood must have been obvious. But she was not giving up, not now, not ever. Harry needed her, and she’d do her utmost to save him. No matter what it cost her.

*****

“A squib with a crossbow! What are those people thinking!” A wizard - Diggle something - whispered, unaware that India Cohen could hear him perfectly. 

“Maybe she’s Hagrid’s daughter. He’s got a crossbow too,” one of the younger redheads whispered back. The smaller stockier one. Charlie, supposedly working with dragons. India would love to slay a dragon, not many Slayers had managed that, but apparently they were all in preserves now, and that would not be a real hunt, or a fight to remember. India didn’t know who Hagrid was, but she was not his daughter.

“He’s got a much bigger one though. That one doesn’t look like much.” That was the taller redhead. Handsome, if one liked the bad boys with long hair. India didn’t. India liked men, not boys. One man in particular.

It got a bit hard to ignore the comments and looks. She had to restrain herself from reacting, and from bashing in the face of one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Maybe once a number of them had felt her wrath they’d stop arguing about her place in this ambush just because she had no wand but a crossbow. But she had strict orders not to reveal that she was the Slayer, nor to harm their so-called allies. Orders from Mister Travers and from Kit. Who was not present again, despite the importance of this mission - their first joint mission with those wizards! India was starting to fear someone was trying to replace her Watcher. Someone like Fitzburg. She glared at the young wizard when he had his back turned to her. Kit was her Watcher, and she’d not accept anyone else!

To make a point she pulled out her crossbow and checked it, cocking it and loading it with a wooden bolt with cold iron and silver inlays - the ‘demon special’, as the Watchers called it. Kit called it a ‘bolt of demon slaying’, apparently a joke from some game. She smiled, remembering that scene. That had been before she had been chosen.

“Cut the chatter, you fools! If you had any experience worth a damn, you’d know that one’s not a stranger to killing.” The harsh words from the scarred wizard with the weird eye - Mad-Eye - shut the others up, hopefully until the Death Eaters finally arrived.

The Order members, the Slayer and four of the rare Watchers wizards were waiting in an unoccupied apartment near the house of the Tonks, the family of that metamorphmagus Auror. India thought she was a shape changing demon, she felt far more different than a witch, but the Watchers had assured her she was a witch, not a demon. India still trusted her gut more. But orders were orders, and her orders were to ambush the Death Eaters who’d attack the house tonight, according to their information. Apparently a crazy witch named Bellatrix Lestrange wanted to kill the whole family. India was looking forward to slaying her.

She twirled a few bolts around in her hand before stashing them in a fluid motion in the loops sewn into the insides of her leather jacket. Then she noticed that the two redheads were staring at her, again - but differently this time. Less patronizingly. Had that minor display of her skill with all weapons given her away? Or… she pulled one jeans-clad leg up on the bench she was sitting on and shifted her position a bit, letting her jacket fall open and expose her top. Yes. They were staring at her chest and legs. Didn’t witches have boobs too? It wasn’t as if she was that stacked! Her legs were very fine though. It still was no reason for them to stare like that. She glared at them and patted her crossbow, then stared at the crotch of the dragon handler. That made the two look away and Mad-Eye chuckle. Good. Maybe they could be taught.

A few minutes passed in silence without anyone talking about sports or something stupid. Then The Order wizards started to talk about Quidditch - again. 

“Get up you lot! Someone just threw up Anti-Apparition and Anti-Floo Jinxes on the Tonks!” Mad-Eye suddenly called out, and India was at the window before he had finished speaking, crossbow ready. “Wait!” someone shouted, but she did not listen. She had to get into a good position to cover the house, and she was not about to let slow wizards delay her - she might miss out on the fight!

Dropping down one floor to the ground, she landed in a crouch, eyes searching for targets. The dim light of the night didn’t impede her eyes at all. About 100 yards away she saw a dozen figures moving towards the home of the family. All but one wore black robes and silver skull masks - Death Eaters. That one was a witch wearing a corset with a ripped dress. Lestrange. They would have to take down the wards before they could attack the family, so India had some time to get up that roof she had spotted when she had arrived, into a position which would grant her a good field of fire. She was halfway there, sprinting, when the first wizard on her side reached the street, disillusioning himself.

A leap brought her on top of the mailbox, another to the roof on the garage there. She was on her belly, aiming, when the rest of the wizards arrived and started towards the Death Eaters. The Slayer wanted to send a bolt into the witch’s head, but again, her orders prevented her from acting on her urge - she was to take out as many of the masked Death Eaters as possible. Lestrange was to be taken alive by the wizards since she’d know where the Dark Lord was hiding, and what his plans were.

With a dull thud the first bolt hit a masked Death Eater’s head, almost going all the way through. The dark wizard’s body, caught in the middle of running, spun around itself while dropping to the ground. India had already reloaded. Another bolt took out the one that knelt down to see what had happened to his comrade. It was only then that the scum realized they were under attack. Amateurs, India thought with a sneer while she took aim at another who was turning around himself, wand in front of him looking for her. This time she nailed his neck. He collapsed while his shredded throat spewed blood all over his robes.

Then the disillusioned Watchers and Order members entered the fight, spells flying as they became visible. Lestrange was untouched, a blue shimmering shield blocking all spells sent towards her. Three Death Eaters went down though, the rest managed to dodge or shield, or were not targeted at all.

Six left including Bellatrix Lestrange, who was cackling madly. India spotted one robed dark wizard whose shield had gone down due to a spell from someone and pulled the trigger of her crossbow. He fell, clutching the end of the bolt that had pierced his heart. Five left. One Death Eater was running towards her. He was looking over his shoulder though, at the fight behind him, so he must not have seen her yet, and he had no shield up. India’s next bolt made sure he’d never see her. Four left.

The witch was a whirlwind of mad laughter and wildly flying spells. She was dueling two Watchers and Mad-Eye, and was still able to cast spells at the others in support of her rapidly dwindling followers. A green spell hit Diggle - the killing curse. Another blew up a big part of the street, sending chunks of asphalt flying as high as India’s perch. She saw one Watcher and two Order wizards down, though at least two of them were still moving. India clenched her teeth - she wanted nothing more than to charge that witch and fight it out. 

Instead she shot one Death Eater in the back before he could finish off the dragon handler caught in the explosion. Her bolt went through his weak shield and severed his spine close to the neck, leaving him screaming on the ground, limbs twitching uselessly while he slowly bled out. Another went down to spells from the tall redhead and two women who had stormed out of the house, and a Watcher killed the last one by blowing up his head.

That left the crazy witch still dancing over the battlefield, cackling and casting rapidly. India was tempted to see how long it would take for the Watchers to call her in. But she was the Slayer, not a petulant child. Another explosion sent two more wizards to the ground, one of them a watcher. India had enough and fired at Lestrange. Her bolt bounced of the blue shimmering shield around the witch. Time to end this.

India rose, moved two steps back while cocking and loading her crossbow again, and then took a running jump off the garage’s roof. “LESTRANGE!” she screamed while she was falling, and when the witch turned towards her, she fired another bolt at her. It was stopped by the shield again, but it had made the woman flinch. India reached the ground and rolled, dropping her crossbow and drawing her blessed dagger from the sheath on her back. She came up in a crouch, and then had to jump forward to dodge a spell sent her way. The street behind her blew up, more chunks hitting her back, but she didn’t care. Her foe was in front of her, and her blood was hot. That dark witch would die!

She charged at her, but another spell forced her to jump to the side, into the crater an earlier explosion had left. She scrambled up and out of it just in time to see Black turn towards the house and cast. The whole house shook from the impact of the spell and the Tonks family was thrown to the ground, but nothing else happened. Wards, India thought, while sprinting towards the dark witch again. She was close enough to spot the white in the crazy eyes of the witch as her enemy spun around, wand pointed at her and tip glowing with another spell. India wouldn’t be able to dodge, but if she was fast enough, she’d be at her before…

Before Lestrange could cast she was sent reeling by a barrage of spells that caught her in the side, finally bringing down her shield. Grinning, India took advantage of that. Her dagger flashed and cut the dark witch’s wand hand, sending wood and fingers flying. Before the witch realized what had happened India had pulled the bleeding arm to the side with her left hand, turning Lestrange to fully face her, and then slid her dagger into the woman’s chest a fraction of a second before she crashed into the witch and pushed her to the ground, herself landing on top of her. 

Lestrange was staring at the Slayer, surprise and shock on her face. She started to laugh, only to end in a gurgling cough when blood ran out of her mouth. Then her eyes dimmed, and Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. Slain.

India got off her, wiping her dagger clean on the witch’s robe, and stood up to check on the watchers who had been hit. And the Order members too. She felt no remorse for killing the witch instead of trying to capture her. Her instincts had screamed at her to slay the witch, and so she had done it.

*****

“Those Watchers have the right attitude. No hesitation, no nonsense, they cast and killed. With them we have a chance against the Death Eaters.” Alastor sounded impressed while giving his report in Albus Dumbledore’s office. His old friend had been hurt, splinter wounds from Blasting Curses, but Poppy had already taken care of those. “A dozen Death Eaters, down, including Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“We took losses too,” Albus reminded him. Dedalus had been a very old friend. He had fought in the first war with Voldemort as well. He had not been as skilled as others with a wand and had known it - but he had never let that keep him from fighting when needed. A true Gryffindor.

“Aye, we did. But all but one will be living. Even the Watcher that had caught a dark curse looked like he’d make it.” Alastor, understandably, didn’t really care about wounds, even crippling wounds. If he could go on with one leg, eye and nose less than others, then so could everyone else. Or so he claimed. “Too bad we could not capture Lestrange alive.”

“How did the Slayer fight?”

Alastor hesitated a second before answering. “I think they wanted to hold her back. She was shooting a crossbow for most of the battle. Nailed most of the rank and file of the Death Eaters there though. And her charge at Lestrange… for a moment I thought she would have killed her even without our help, no matter what curse the witch would have hit her with.”

“Impressive then.” Albus made a mental note.

“Oh, yes. Very impressive. If she could use a wand even I’d be terrified.” Alastor chuckled, but Albus thought his friend was not as much joking as he appeared. “What about your spy’s cover?”

“We identified the dead. I will state in the next meeting that one of them let slip the time of the raid in the Leaky Cauldron, and that we all should keep our ears open for more of such slips. That should keep Severus from getting suspected.” Albus didn’t mention that Severus had argued about the value of the Tonks, as opposed to risking his cover, when he reported the upcoming attack.

“What’s next?”

“I do hope Voldemort will not risk more of his forces for a while, giving us time to find his base.”

  
“What about his… secret?” Alastor didn’t name the Horcruxes, not even in Albus’s office. Some called that paranoid, Albus considered it prudent.

“I haven’t made much progress there, sadly. But we cannot allow Voldemort to spread terror and tighten his grip on the Ministry.” Things were already rather bad there.

“Is that why you didn’t want the bodies found by the DMLE?”

  
“Yes. If Fudge could present the body of Bellatrix, he’d claim she had been killed on his orders and by his forces, and his position would be strengthened. Given his foolish delusions, that cannot be allowed.”

“Too bad Lucius was not among the dead. That would have solved a big problem.” Alastor looked at Albus, and the Headmaster knew what he was saying.

“If we get an opportunity, we’ll take it. But he’s very cautious.” 

“Everyone’s luck runs out one day.” Alastor stood up. “I’ll head home before Poppy tries to stick me into a bed.”

Chuckling at the image Albus waved him goodbye. 

*****

“The mission was a success then, Mister Fitzburg?” Quentin’s voice was mild, but his expression was stern. One Watcher wizard down with a curse that would take weeks to recover from. Two more wounded - though healed by now.

“Yes, sir. We took out one of Voldemort’s most trusted and skilled followers and her entire group of Death Eaters. That should set back his plans and operations significantly.” Fitzburg met his eyes without flinching.

“Even counting the fact that the Slayer was exposed to our allies?” Quentin didn’t sneer when talking about the Order of the Phoenix, even though their value in a fight was worse than he had feared, according to this mission.

“I do not think she was recognized because of her involvement, Sir. Of the Order members with us, one already knew of her, and the others did not seem to be tie her to her legend. And most of them had been wounded already, or otherwise focused on surviving against the dark witch, and had therefore been distracted.”

“I do hope you are right. We cannot afford being exposed at this point.” Once they had culled the Death Eaters’ numbers some more, it wouldn’t matter that much anymore. “Did you order the Slayer to engage in close combat?”

“I ordered her to take out the masked Death Eaters first. She didn’t attack Lestrange until that had been accomplished, and did not close to melee range until attacks with her crossbow had been proven to be ineffective.” This time Fitzburg stared at the wall behind Quentin. 

So, the Slayer had followed orders, but interpreted them in creative ways. Maybe Quentin had to speak with Botwell again, and reconsider his decision to keep the Watcher out of action in Wizarding Britain. The Slayer was not as experienced to make the correct call in every situation. That was her Watcher’s duty. “Very well. Go and rest some.” 

“Thank you Sir. “Fitzburg nodded and left Quentin’s office. 

The wizard needed rest - he looked as exhausted as Quentin’s grandniece lately. Hermione was pushing herself hard, maybe too hard, but she was close to finding a way to solve the Horcrux problem. Other Watchers were researching the same topic, but Hermione was the one with access to the Hogwarts and Black Libraries. If they managed to find the ritual to restore a soul that had been rent by a demon, that should be able to restore Voldemort’s soul as well, rendering the Horcruxes including Potter’s scar inert. Hermione could take all the breaks she needed after she finished that task. Not that Quentin thought he could make her take a break anyway. Chip of the old block, there.

*****

“Bellatrix has not returned, nor have any of the men she took with them?” 

Lucius Malfoy flinched when the Dark Lord glared at the hapless Death Eater who had just told him that. “Your arm!” The heir of Slytherin commanded, and the wizard kneeling in front of him cut his own sleeve in his haste to obey. Lucius’s lord pressed the tip of his wand to the dark mark visible there, and mumbled a short incantation. Then they waited. With each minute that passed, the Dark Lord became more angry, and Lucius more nervous. If Bellatrix did not arrive she was either dead or captured. Nothing else would keep her from the Dark Lord’s side when he had summoned her.

Bellatrix and all the Death Eaters she had taken with her to remove that stain on her and his family captured or dead - who could have expected that? The only one who would have been able to face her would have been Dumbledore, but not even Bellatrix would have been as crazy as to stand and fight him. So, who could have taken down the witch? A strike team of Aurors in an ambush, maybe? But Lucius would have expected information about such a big operation - one would have needed a lot of wands to defeat Bellatrix - to have leaked through one of the spies placed in the DMLE. The Order? They had not enough skilled wands to beat Bellatrix. She could have killed a dozen of the likes of Molly Weasley without trouble. Maybe Potter? He had faced the Dark Lord in a duel and lived after all. But he was still at Hogwarts, Draco was keeping an eye on him. And Dumbledore wouldn’t let his golden boy fight in the war. No, there had to be someone else, someone unknown, behind this. 

“Find out what had happened to my Bellatrix!” the Dark Lord growled after half an hour had passed. “Find out who will suffer my vengeance!” 

The Death Eaters present scattered. Lucius was about to leave as well - he would have to arrange a visit to Fudge as soon as possible to find out what the fool knew - when the Dark Lord held him back with a raised hand. “Stay, Lucius.”

Swallowing nervously, Lucius obeyed. “Milord.”

“With this new setback, it is imperative that I acquire the full prophecy as soon as possible. Dumbledore knows that as well. And yet our spies found out that the prophecy is not guarded anymore.”

“Do you think it is a trap, milord?”

“I am sure it is. But the question is - is the bait there still, or has it been switched?”

“Milord?”

“The only one able to take the prophecy apart from me is Potter. If the prophecy was taken out of the Department of Mysteries, then Potter will have been involved. Find out if that’s the case!” The Dark Lord dismissed Lucius with a curt gesture, and the blond wizard was too glad to leave, despite the difficult task he had just received. 

How could he get to Potter when Dumbledore was keeping him so close to give special lessons almost every evening? Draco hadn’t seen either Potter nor his mudblood girlfriend at Hogsmeade during any of the last weekends, so Dumbledore was even preventing them from leaving the castle, like in third year when everyone had thought Sirius Black was after Potter. Lucius himself wouldn’t be able to enter Hogwarts, it was too dangerous. Fudge had Aurors there, but they were not exactly the best spies, or trustworthy. 

Lucius sighed. He’d have to send a letter to his son. 

*****

“You can’t go on like this, Hermione!” Harry Potter was getting concerned. Hermione, his girlfriend, was looking worse each day. It was as if they were back in third year. “You barely sleep four hours per day, and you’re working all the time.” Now she was about to leave the Room of Requirement again, and not for bed, but for some more studying in the restricted section - after they had trained with Ron, who had left for a patrol with Lavender earlier, for two hours already.

“It’s alright, I can manage.” Hermione didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s not! You’re pushing yourself far too much, and it’s harming you!”

“This is important, Harry.”

“More important than your health?”

“Yes!”

He hadn’t an answer to that ready, and stared at her in shock. “How can you say that? To me? If you… I mean… if anything happened to you, because of me….”

That seemed to get through to his girlfriend. She stepped up to him and hugged him, hard. He could feel how thin she was even through her robes. “Harry… your life is at stake. I cannot let you die. I am so close to finding a solution, so close to saving you...”

“But…”

“Harry…” 

He could hear, feel her sob. She was crying. He ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to tell her to let it go, to stop, to take care of herself, but he couldn’t. She was doing this for him, and if he forbid her… she’d do it anyway. And if he found a way around that… she’d hate him. And still tried to do it anyway. “At least let me help.”

“But you need all the training you can get to fight Voldemort!” Hermione said between sobs.

“I can’t train much if I worry about you. Let me help you.” He pushed her back, breaking her hug, and stared at her, pleading. “Please.”

She stared back, lips trembling, and finally nodded. Then they hugged each other again, staying like that, silently, for a while.

*****

Draco Malfoy stared at the letter from his father. To spy on Potter with the goal to get leverage on him? He had been doing that for the entire term so far! Didn’t his father listen to him? To get Potter one simply had to get the disgusting mudblood he was rutting around with. Oh, the rumor was they were getting ‘special lessons’ from Dumbledore, but Draco had seen them far away from the Headmaster’s office - that was obviously just a cover story. Though given how exhausted the mudblood was looking lately, she was likely shagging Weasley too, maybe others as well. Mudbloods were like that. They’d shag anyone if they thought that it would gain them an advantage. Or that it would keep them alive. He smirked at that thought, then grew serious again.

His father ordered him to be cautious, as if Draco hadn’t been careful for the entire year. He had not even done anything about all the mudbloods walking around, just begging to be shown their place. He had been overly cautious. Maybe it was time to be a bit more daring. He hadn’t learned those new spells to never use them, after all, and if he managed to get Potter, or his mudblood…

******* **


	12. Crimes and Criminals

**Chapter 12: Crimes and Criminals**

Another night, another research session in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. A shorter one though than Hermione Granger wanted. But she had promised Harry that she’d not exhaust herself. Even if it meant finding a way to save him would be delayed. Though she also had to admit that she was more efficient when she was more rested. A week or so of sleeping more than a few hours per night had done a lot of good.

She still wanted to live in the libraries until she found that ritual. It was referred to in ‘Myths of Magic’, but dismissed as a story made up by Myrken the Mad. But Myrken Flenswater was referred to as a skilled wizard and specialist for demons in the archives of the Watchers Council - he had been instrumental in helping a Slayer defeat a demonic incursion in Wales in 1740. That had been before he had earned his unflattering nickname, Hermione knew. He had been called ‘the Mad’ after he tried to convince people that the Ministry was selling souls to demons, and ended up in Azkaban for his ‘attempt to incite people to rebel’. The Blacks had managed to buy a number of his books and notes that the Ministry had auctioned off after confiscating them, but his final grimoire, ‘Of Souls and Magic’, mentioned in her sources, had never been found.

The young witch sighed, closing the last tome on her table - no one else better dared to sit there if they knew what was good for them - in the library. Harry had a Quidditch training session, so he’d be late and tired, and maybe even bruised. Hermione muttered a few curses about a stupid, dangerous sport. Then she sighed - she knew Harry loved flying, and she loved to see him dash across the sky, happy and carefree. It was the bludgers and suicidal tactics she objected to. She’d ask Harry to stop, but all things considered, Quidditch was good for him - the camaraderie in the team more than the flying itself though. He could fly without dodging bludgers, after all. And he’d end up bruised in defense training anyway. Rubbing her biceps, she reminded herself that she too got hit regularly, even if the ointment she had used would make the bruises disappear overnight.

Hermione returned the books to their proper places on the shelves and stored her notes in her enchanted pocket. She’d have to research in the Black Library again; all the works from and about Myrken at Hogwarts were dated before he had started to focus on demons and souls. The librarian at the time probably had dismissed all his later work as rantings of a madman. After taking a last look at her table, and the shelves, to make sure she had not left anything, she started towards the door. It was past curfew already. 

*****

Draco Malfoy was waiting with his two best friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Potter’s mudblood was, as usual, staying past curfew in the library. He knew that since the prefects had been informed that she had permission from the Headmaster to study longer in the library for a special extra credit project after one patrol had reported her. The scion of the Malfoy family sneered, thinking of that affront - a mudblood getting special treatment! How low Hogwarts had fallen, when mudbloods were treated as if they were equal to purebloods! 

But that would change once the Dark Lord ruled Britain. Mudbloods would be serving their betters in exchange for their lives. And tonight, he would do his part for the noble cause. He had been ordered to just spy on Potter, find out what he was doing, and what his weaknesses were, but his father would be so proud once Draco delivered the mudblood to him - Potter would do anything to save her. Draco smiled in anticipation. He’d prove his worth to the Dark Lord!

“Vincent, Gregory! Hide behind the pillar there. I’ll be in the alcove here. Once the mudblood arrives, hit her with a Stunner and Body-binding Curse.”

The two wizards nodded. Draco wasn’t convinced they had understood him.

“I mean it - Stunner and Body-Binder only. We can always curse her once we have her.” They’d not simply curse her, of course. 

They nodded again. Draco narrowed his eyes but sent them off and stepped into the small alcove on the other side of the corridor. It offered better cover - and it had a small bench, so he’d not have to stand while they waited. He was a wizard after all, not some brute. Vincent and Gregory would do fine, they were beaters, not a seeker like him.

Soon the mudblood would arrive, haggard and tired and distracted. She’d be easy prey. And once he had her… well, she’d die anyway, and while the Dark Lord would need her alive, no one would expect her to be unharmed. And since she was shagging Potter and the Weasel, and who knows else, no one would expect her to be a virgin either. Not that anyone would care about the mudblood anyway.

Draco licked his lips as his thoughts wandered back to the holiday he had spent at home. He wondered if the mudblood would beg as well - or rather, he wondered how long it would take until she’d beg, and offer to do anything.

*****

Hermione was about to head straight to the main stairway when she hesitated. What kind of noise had that been, from that shadow behind the pillar? Cloth or something rustling? A prefect patrol or Auror wouldn’t be hiding, and a couple making out would pick a broom closet or an empty classroom. She felt a chill run down her spine. 

Her first impulse was to send a curse into the shadow, but what if that was the trap, make her curse a prefect or even an auror? And if it was nothing she’d look so foolish - especially if prefects or aurors arrived.

So Hermione turned around, heading to another stair, but prepared to shield and dodge if someone…

“Stupefy!” 

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Even if Hermione had not been prepared for such an attack she’d have been able to evade those spells since they were all but shouted. The muggleborn witch had jumped to the side even before her assailants had finished casting, and had a shield up when the red trail of a stunning spell flew past her.

And just in time - another curse hit her shield, coming from a third attacker, hiding in an alcove to the right side. Those were not good odds! But she also didn’t have to hold back anymore. No one with good intentions would have cast from ambush, at her back, and without warning. The lessons from Sirius and Remus had been ingrained into her over the last few months. Her left hand dove into her pocket, gripping the galleon she had enchanted, scratching it to trigger the emergency signal. At the same time she lifted her wand and pointed it at the feet of the two attackers near the pillar.

“Confringo!”

The floor erupted beneath them, stone splinters hitting them. They screamed in pain and collapsed. She expected most splinters to have gone into their legs, so they’d not be able to pursue her. And healing that kind of wounds would take far longer than dispelling some jelly-leg curse or conjured ropes.

“Reducto!” Another spell from that alcove hit her shield, almost breaking it - a Reductor Curse, she noted. Hermione knew she should retreat, but they’d curse her in the back if she gave them such an opportunity. And she could not jump over the railing, even with a cushioning charm the fall would be too much. No, she had no choice but to fight.

She couldn’t see who was casting at her from the alcove, shrouded in shadows, so she sprinted to the other side, behind a pillar. The two attackers she had hit with the Blasting Curse were groaning and crying, but for how much longer? 

Hermione hesitated. Could she… should she? 

“Reducto!” The pillar she was hiding behind shook with the impact of another spell. That settled it. This was no schoolyard prank gone too far, or some attempt to bully her; this was an attack on her life. Snarling, she ducked around the pillar, keeping it on her right to shield her from that third wizard who stuck to the alcove, and aimed her wand at the two shapes on the floor.

“Confringo! Confringo!”

She was behind the pillar again when the two blasting curses showered the hallway with more splinters A cry from the alcove told her that some must have hit the third attacker. No more cries or groans came from the two on the ground, so those were out of the battle. But she needed to change position before the other brought the pillar down her. 

Hermione cast a cushioning charm on the hallway’s ground, then jumped. The thought that her former PE teacher would have been proud shot through her mind - it was the first time she managed a perfect tuck and roll.

“Mudblood! Crucio!”

Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins for an instant when she heard the incantation of the torture curse. Her shield would not protect her at all. Desperately, she jumped again, rolling behind a pillar while the spell hit the floor behind her. She whirled around, wand out, and saw the last attacker stagger out from the alcove, one hand pressed to his bleeding face, the other, with his hand, moving to point at her. 

“I’ll kill you, mudblood!” he screamed. 

Malfoy! Hermione was faster though, and aimed better. 

“Reducto!”

Malfoy’s wand, hand and lower arm disappeared in a cloud of blood, mangled flesh and bone fragments and wooden splinters. He collapsed screaming.

Chest heaving and shaking, Hermione rose from her crouching position and looked around, Then she wished she had not. Since she was closer, she could now see what her blasting curses had done to the other two attackers - Crabbe and Goyle. They were...

“Hermione!” 

She whirled around and saw Harry running at her, full sprint, followed by Ron and ... Lavender?

“I am alright, Harry. They didn’t hit me,” she tried to reassure her boyfriend. He simply hugged her, hard - after he had looked for another attacker.

“Blimey! Are they dead?” Ron stared at the sight, mouth open. He did look more fascinated than horrified though, Hermione noted. Lavender on the other hand screamed and then turned around, retching, and losing her dinner on the stone floor.

Harry suddenly turned his head. “Someone’s coming!” Hermione and Harry separated and raised their wands, together with Ron, who moved in front of Lavender.

Snape reached the top of the main stairs, followed by Dumbledore. Behind them, Robards was coming, clad in his auror robes instead of the teacher’s robes he usually wore. No one of the ‘regular’ Aurors stationed at Hogwarts had arrived yet.

“What have you done!” Snape cried out, then cast a spell to stop the bleeding on Malfoy’s arm. “You will pay for this, Potter!” He turned to face them, then froze when he was staring at the points of three wands. No, four wands, Hermione noted, Lavender had raised hers as well, even though she was still shaking.

“Shut your sodding mouth, Snape, or we’ll shut it for you!” Harry yelled back, trembling with rage.

“They tried to ambush me. When I noticed some movement in the shadows and turned around to walk away, they attacked me. Draco used an unforgivable, but missed. I defended myself.” Hermione spoke quickly, before the situation degenerated. She kept her wand pointed at Snape, but looked at Dumbledore and Robards. Behind them she could spot McGonagall coming up the stairs as well.

Robards had checked Crabbe and Goyle. He stood up, shaking his head. “They’re dead.” 

Hermione briefly closed her eyes. She had killed two people. She had known it when she saw them lying on the ground, after she had taken out Draco, but to have it confirmed… she took a deep breath, then jutted her chin out. She had killed two dark wizards who had attacked her. She had not only done nothing wrong, but she had done the right thing! Turning towards Robards, she spoke as calmly as she could, given the circumstances. “Arrest Malfoy! He cast the Torture Curse at me. It’s only thanks to his bad aim that I survived.”

“Is this true, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore, who had been checking on Malfoy, asked, sounding more weary and sad than anything else. McGonagall gasped. Snape was muttering something under his breath, but was not saying anything. Malfoy had fallen unconscious, or had been sent to sleep, she had not noticed. He was not moaning anymore at least.

“Yes. Check his wand, it’ll…” The wand she had blown up. Hermione recovered quickly. “Use Veritaserum on him!”

“That requires a special permission from the courts,” Robards answered, with the air of someone reciting a well-known and oft repeated statement.

“Use on me, then! I’ll volunteer!” Hermione wasn’t about to let the dark wizard get away on technicalities and his father’s gold. Then she remembered what kind of secrets she carried. But she raised her chin defiantly - backing down now would cast suspicion on her.

“Severus, please take Mister Malfoy to the infirmary for further treatment.” Dumbledore turned to Robards. “Gawain, this is not the first time he and his two friends were involved in an ambush, so I am very much inclined to believe Miss Granger, even without Veritaserum.” He looked at all present. “I think it’s best if we move this to my office. Gawain, please rustle up some of your colleagues and have them stay guard over the scene of the crime, then check in the infirmary if Mister Malfoy can be interrogated. The parents of all involved have to be informed as well.” 

Dumbledore glanced at Harry when he said the last sentence, and Hermione understood - Sirius and Remus might already have arrived as well, not knowing that the danger was over. She quickly rubbed the galleon to give the all-clear signal and saw Harry was doing the same. 

“Mister Weasley, please escort Miss Brown to the Infirmary for a calming draught, and then back to the Gryffindor dorms. Minerva, please make sure no prefects stumble upon the scene, and inform Pomona,” the Headmaster said.

Ron nodded and wrapped his arm around Lavender. The girl still had her wand out too, but let her arm drop to her side when Ron led her away. McGonagall stayed while Robards left to hunt down his still absent colleagues.

Dumbledore led Harry and Hermione towards his office at a brisk pace. As soon as they were out of earshot he sent a silvery patronus to Sirius and Remus, telling them to go home. Then he cast a privacy spell and turned to the two teenagers. “I have caught a brief glimpse into Mister Malfoy’s mind before he was rendered unconscious. He had most dire plans for you, Miss Granger. Please do not feel guilty at all for what you had to do.”

“I do not, Headmaster.” Hermione’s prompt reply caused the old wizard to briefly wince. “What were his plans exactly?”

Sighing, Dumbledore walked a few steps in silence before answering: “He planned to deliver you to Voldemort, after taking liberties with you against your will.” 

Hermione froze. She had suspected, but to know… she wished she had reduced Malfoy’s head, not his hand, to red mist. Harry cursed loudly, and she had to hold his arm to keep him from rushing off to the infirmary. “Don’t Harry! He’ll be punished.” 

“Indeed he will,” Dumbledore stated. 

Hermione didn’t agree. With only her testimony, against a pureblood, a rich pureblood, whose father had the favor of the Minister for Magic… “Should I leave Hogwarts and move to Grimmauld Place before the Aurors come for me on Malfoy’s order?”

Harry gasped. “What? They’d dare?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I fear that, given his past record, Cornelius will not see reason. Your parents are already in hiding, as I understand, so they are safe from any attempts to use them as leverage.”

“Will they go after Harry if I am not around?” Hermione was rather certain they would - Umbridge had already tried to torture Harry on his first day of the year. This would give them another pretext to hurt her love.

“I fear that will be likely.” Dumbledore nodded at the gargoyle guarding the stairs to his office, who moved away.

“I’ll go with you anyway!” Harry declared. 

Hermione smiled gratefully at him and took his hand. “I know.” She looked at Dumbledore again. “What about Ron?”

“He should be safe.” 

Hermione nodded. Ron was a pureblood, and had not been present at the fight. And if Harry fled with her, but not with Ron, that would make it appear unlikely that he was involved. On the other hand, he had had a lot of incidents with Malfoy. She hoped Dumbledore had plans in place to protect Ron.

Once in the office, the Headmaster used the floo to call Sirius. As expected, Harry’s godfather and his friend had been in his office, and had just returned to No. 12, Grimmauld Place. 

Dumbledore turned to the teenage couple. “Do you need anything from your dorms?”

“No, sir,” Harry answered at once. “I carry everything important on me.” He patted his hip, where, Hermione knew, his enchanted pouch hung. “Just release Hedwig.”

“I will need my trunk with my books, sir,” Hermione stated. A number of them were hard to replace, and on loan. “And Crookshanks.”

“Winxy!” A house elf appeared. “Please fetch Miss Granger’s trunk and pet, then Mister Potter’s owl.”

A few minutes later the trunk was back in the dorms, a number of books lighter, the smartest and prettiest cat in the school was in his carrier, a snowy owl was flying away and a house elf had been obliviated. 

Dumbledore sighed. “I’ll head to the infirmary, and will be surprised you decided to flee. I fear this will persuade the authorities you are guilty, but there’s no other way to keep you safe - once you’re in the clutches of the Ministry you’d be far too vulnerable for Voldemort’s men, even if the Ministry would not make an example out of you.” 

Which, Hermione was dead certain, they would. Muggleborns were not supposed to kill purebloods. She nodded and was at the Floo connection with Harry before Dumbledore had reached the door. When she stepped into the fire, her last thought was that she’d have enough time to do the needed research at least.

*****

Lucius Malfoy was livid. His only son, Draco, had been maimed. By a mudblood even! He and his wife had been on the way to St. Mungo’s as soon as they had heard of this atrocity. Fortunately for the clerk at the reception near the Floo connection in the hospital she knew where Draco was, since Lucius was so angry, he wanted to hurt someone, anyone. The two Aurors standing guard at the door - they better were there for Draco’s protection, and not because he was a suspect! - gave way and he nodded at them. Everyone of importance knew he was a close friend of Fudge.

“Draco!” Narcissa cried and rushed to his side. 

It was a surprising display of emotions in public, for a pureblood witch like her, but Lucius understood his wife. Their son, their only child, was unconscious, pale - far paler than normal - and his right arm ended in a bandaged stump. Lucius felt rage, hatred against whoever had done this rise up inside him, filling him, demanding to be vented, demonstrated. it took a great effort to control himself. He stepped to Draco’s other side and touched his cheek. So pale, clammy. His poor son!

He turned to the healer in the room. “What happened to him?” 

The healer, a middle-aged witch, swallowed. “His hand was hit with a Reductor Curse. His wand was destroyed, as was most of his lower arm. It was not dark magic, so we will be able to restore it, but that will take some time. He’s lost a lot of blood, but we managed to have him drink blood replenishing potions, so there’s no danger anymore.”

Lucius felt relieved. His son would not be crippled for life, he would recover fully. Narcissa broke out in tears at the statement. “How long will he have to be in the hospital?” He was already trying to guess how long Draco would have to stay to have the best impact on Fudge, but he wanted to know how long the healing would take.

“A week, at least, so we can regrow his arm and make sure there are no complications.”

Lucius nodded. That would do.

The door to the room opened, and he turned, wand in hand. Who dared interrupt them?

  
“Lucius! I came as soon as I heard the news!” Fudge stepped inside, bowler hat in hand. “Terrible, terrible!”

It took another great effort, but Lucius schooled his features, and smiled weakly at the fool. “Thank you for coming, Cornelius. Draco will survive, but it was a close affair.” Lucius assumed it had been, given the severity of the injury, but it did not matter if it actually was true, only that it looked plausible. “I trust whoever tried to murder Draco is already in custody?” If not, heads would roll.

Fudge nervously wringing the rim of his hat told Lucius the answer before the Minister spoke up. “I am afraid the culprit, a muggleborn witch named Granger, escaped, together with the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore failed to lock them up and they ran away.”

Lucius ground his teeth in anger - the ones who maimed his son had escaped! That was unacceptable! But reason took over before he could lash out in anger. This was actually a great opportunity. Potter and his mudblood were on the run, criminals fleeing justice. And all under the nose of Dumbledore. This was a grave blow against the Dark Lord’s enemies. He would be pleased. 

“I see. So Harry Potter tried to have his mudblood tart kill my son? And escaped both the teachers and the Aurors at Hogwarts?” He didn’t have to fake the anger audible in his voice, much. “I think this shows the need for changes, both at the DMLE and at Hogwarts.”

“Oh course, Lucius! Such a blunder will not be repeated! Rest assured, all those responsible will be punished!”

“And the murderers caught.”

“Of course! All our Aurors will be hunting them!”

Lucius didn’t think that would amount to much - Black and Lupin were still at large - but it would keep the Aurors from hindering the Dark Lord’s plans. He smiled at Fudge. “Thank you, Cornelius. It is good to hear that the Ministry is taking such decisive action.” He kept smiling when the fool actually straightened at hearing such lies. Once the Dark Lord had taken over, he’d see to the disposal of Fudge himself, if only to pay him back for all the flattering and bribing he had to do.

*****

“I am not sure if I should be proud or not that you’re following in my footsteps, kid.” 

Harry Potter looked up from where he was sitting in the salon next to his girlfriend at his godfather’s words. Sirius had returned from the kitchen and held out two bottles of butterbeer towards the young couple. Harry took them and passed one to Hermione, who looked as puzzled as he felt.

Sirius grinned. “You’ve made it on the Ministry’s most wanted list before you even took your O.W.L.s!” He raised his own bottle. “Here’s to our growing family of outlaws!”

Harry raised his own bottle, but Hermione huffed. 

“It’s just more proof how corrupt the Ministry is. Innocents are hunted and murderers and rapists are protected.” She scowled, and muttered in a low voice so only Harry could hear the words: “I should have killed that foul evil bastard.”

“Language, Hermione!” he whispered, then yelped when she tried to bury a pointy elbow in his ribs. Sirius laughed, and even Remus, joining them in the living room, smiled. “Well, look at the positive consequences: We’ve got far more time to train and research, we’re with family, and we are far safer here than at Hogwarts.” Harry wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, and the witch nodded. 

“You’re right. I’ll be able to make much more progress now.” With a glance to him she quickly added: “Without exhausting myself.” She turned to Remus and Sirius. “And I’ll be able to train more. Without those lessons I’d be dead, or worse.”

Harry knew she was not talking about getting expelled this time. “Yes. We’ll focus on defense training. I doubt we’ll be able to take the O.W.L.s on schedule anyway.” He thought they’d need a miracle for this mess to be sorted out before their N.E.W.T. year, given that Sirius was still hunted after more than two years. A miracle, or the destruction of the Ministry. He didn’t voice either thought. A year ago, he’d have been devastated, but now? The Watchers Council wouldn’t care what dark wizards and their foolish tools thought of him. Or of his love. They had a future together, outside Hogwarts.

*****

“Did you hear? Malfoy’s coming back to Hogwarts!” 

Lavender sounded horrified, Ron Weasley thought. She had good reasons too, though. Malfoy was bad news. His father was just too powerful.

Ron remembered how soon after the two had returned to the dorms the night of the attack on Hermione, Aurors had arrived to arrest the muggleborn witch and Harry. Fortunately, Ron’s friends had already escaped the castle, but the Aurors, the Ministry and the Daily Prophet had taken that as an admission of guilt and had been in a frenzy ever since. Even many students - Badgers and Ravens, Snakes did not count, they were all evil anyway - had thought Hermione and Harry were guilty. At first, at least. Once Ron and his girlfriend had gotten the true story out though, things had started to change. Everyone knew what could happen and be covered up with Obliviate. And there had been rumors, of course. But most importantly, after four years, everyone knew Malfoy. Even some of the female snakes didn’t claim he was the victim anymore.

“It’ll be okay, Love.” He pulled her closer, placing a kiss on the top of her head. They were just outside the Gryffindor common room, in ‘their spot’, as Ron thought of it. “People know he’s guilty.” And if Malfoy tried anything, anything at all, Ron would make sure he’d never try anything anymore. Not even breathing. His sister and girlfriend were still at school, after all, and it was his duty to protect them. It would hurt his family, but they’d understand. And there would be no Snape at Grimmauld Place.

He sighed. Snape had become even more vicious after Malfoy had been disarmed, as the twins had put it. Gryffindors had lost so many points, Ron had thought they had ended up in the red. Whatever that expression Hermione had once used meant. Red was their house color, wasn’t it?

But the Headmaster had stepped in, and restored the points. He had not quite dressed down Snape in public, but everyone had gotten the message. It was the only thing that made Potions bearable, but they didn’t learn much there, anymore. Not that they had learned much in class anyway. But with the O.W.L.s looming closer and closer… Ron would have to ask the twins for help.

He gently lifted Lavender’s head and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Let’s go on patrol now. The sooner we start, the sooner we are done.”

She nodded, and they moved out. Unlike patrols before that night, both were alert and moved with their wands out, ready for anything. They had stunned a curfew breaker who had tried to run past them two days ago, but better safe than sorry, Ron had said, and his girlfriend had agreed.

He glanced at her, and smiled. Lavender had come a long way this year. Even Hermione had been quite friendly towards her these days - unless his girlfriend commented on the muggleborn’s hair.

*****

Albus Dumbledore sat at his office, sighing. Things were getting worse. They were not out of control, yet, but close. And it was his fault. If he had done something about Draco, before the holidays… if he had done something right after the holidays had ended… But he had not. He had considered Draco a child still, able to change, to be redeemed even. And he had been wrong. He had not told Harry and Miss Granger all he had seen when he had probed Draco’s mind. Just what the young wizard’s plans had been with regards to Miss Granger. But what Draco had done during the holidays… Albus would carry the guilt for his failure to prevent that to his grave, he knew.

And he only had to blame himself for this. Miss Granger had had no choice. There had been no way to cover this up. Not with Robards around. And he could not let Harry and Miss Granger be arrested, they’d be dead within the week. And now the Ministry was calling for his removal. He had had to resort to blackmail to keep the board of governors from acting on the pressure they were under. They’d not hold out forever, of course. His influence in the Ministry had shrunk too much.

He needed a miracle to recover from this. And miracles were in short supply. Instead, he could see the next calamity approaching: Draco was returning to Hogwarts. The young Death Eater was returning to a school whose students were all too aware of what kind of wizard he was. It was only a matter of time until Draco ran afoul of someone else, unless - and this was a faint hope given the past events - Lucius had managed to make him control himself.

Albus hoped Severus could control Draco, but it was not too likely either. Severus was fixated on killing Voldemort, he could trust that, but that also meant anything else didn’t matter that much to the young Potion Master. And as much as Albus hated to admit it, Severus still held on to grudges from his time as a student. Still backed his house, no matter what they had done.

He sighed again. He had to prepare for the worst, and that meant he had to make sure that his successor as Headmaster or Headmistress was acceptable. Minerva would be his first choice, but she was too loyal to him. The Ministry would never accept her. Filius would not be chosen, not by Fudge’s Ministry, for his ancestry. Severus… would be a catastrophe. He’d ruin the school in a short time. The students deserved better.

Albus needed a miracle, and he needed it soon.

******* **


	13. Framed

**Chapter 13: Framed**

Quentin Travers had read the latest Daily Prophet on his desk. His grandniece was now wanted for murder, together with her boyfriend. Aurors were ‘combing the country’ for the two teenagers after their ‘daring escape from Hogwarts’ had ‘all but confirmed their guilt’. The old Watcher dropped the newspaper, if one could call the rag that without insulting such fine examples of high-quality journalism such as ‘The Sun’, on his desk and leaned back, smiling. Others might be concerned about this, but he felt it was the best thing that could have happened. Hermione and Mister Potter were now further distanced from Wizarding Britain and were free to research and support the Council, instead of learning whatever drivel that school deemed important. 

Not to mention that two dark wizards had been killed by Hermione’s hand - or wand in this case. Two monsters who would not prey on humanity again. It was a pity that the third had survived, but the Malfoy family already was in the Council’s sight, and after this, no one would argue to have the child spared. That foul cretin would not grow up to attack anyone else, Quentin swore.

He would have to be supportive of the girl though. She was still young, and for all her determination and talent, killing, especially monsters that looked so human and young, could weigh heavily on one’s mind. But she’d get over that. Just as he himself had, after his first vampire kill. And in the long run, it would be good for her - she’d know from the start that monsters could look and act like humans, children even, and yet had to be killed as the inhuman demons they were. She’d not be killed, like some Watchers were, when a vampire looked a bit too young and innocent, and they hesitated just long enough.

But he had to focus on the task at hand. Hermione would want access to the library, of course, and the assistance of young Mister Giles. And Mister Potter would need more training. He wrote a note to that effect, then checked his watch. Plenty of time for some studying before his next appointment.

*****

India Cohen checked her appearance in the large mirror again. Minimal makeup, sensible hairstyle. She couldn’t do much about that - or wanted to. She was the Slayer, not some schoolgirl with a crush. And Kit wouldn’t want a schoolgirl anyway, far too young and innocent for a Watcher, while she was already a seasoned Slayer. Clothes… it was too cold still for a kind of “casual and sexy” look with sleeveless top and cut-offs, but her turtleneck was tight enough to show her chest very nicely, and her jeans looked like she had painted them on, with black ankle-boots - not as high-heeled as recommended, but she had to be ready to fight at all times - completing her outfit. She looked sexy but not cheap. Those tips in that magazine she bought on the stake-out last week had helped her so much!

Smiling at her own reflection, she turned around for a last look, then left her room, looking for her Watcher. This time she’d make him realize she was a woman, a woman in love!

India found her Watcher in the library, sitting at one of the old, massive tables there, surrounded by books. He was too close to that Granger girl for her taste, who occupied another table next to him, but the two as well as the old man, Giles, who seemed to live in the library, were apparently reading without paying attention to each other. That India had no competition for her Watcher was good news. That Kit was so captivated by his work was bad news - she’d have to catch his attention without being obvious about it. Well, she was prepared to do exactly that!

“Kit! There you are! What are you reading?” India smiled at the young man, then stepped around, leaning over his shoulder to peek at the book he was studying. She took care to press her chest into his back, and he grew rigidly tense for a second, before he forced himself to relax. Yes!

“Watcher diaries from the 18th centuries. We’re looking for more information about Myrken Flenswater,” Kit explained, with a slightly forced smile. 

“Ah! I can help!” India grabbed a diary from the stack, and plopped down on the chair across from Kit. She could read English, even old English, better than any of the old, dead languages Kit knew and had tried to teach her.

The Slayer spent the next hour subtly trying to catch her Watcher’s attention. Stretching, bending down to check on books on the lowest shelf, pushing her chest out while rolling her neck - she did everything she could think of to show she was an attractive, beautiful, desirable woman. Judging by the way he seemed distracted and his reading slowed down, she believed it was working, but he didn’t actually do something about it. Nothing like she wanted him to do, at least. India sent another glare at Granger and Mister Giles. If not for their presence, she was sure, she’d be quite closer to Kit now.

*****

Severus Snape steeled himself for another visit to the Dark Lord. The man’s mood had become more and more mercurial lately, ever since Bellatrix’ death at the hand of a still unknown group of wizards. Severus had been tasked by Voldemort with finding her killers, but the Potions Master had not had any success so far. Dumbledore was not telling him anything about it, the Tonkses were in hiding and would not talk to him anyway, or so he assumed, and all the muggle witnesses had been obliviated. Appearing with empty hands in front of the Dark Lord was an invitation to get punished, if he was in a bad mood.

On the other hand, Dumbledore’s reputation was in tatters after Granger had gone crazy and killed Crabbe and Goyle, failed to kill Draco, and then escaped with Potter, like Sirius Black had escaped two years ago. After such a blunder it was just a question of time and gold until the Headmaster was removed from his office. That would cheer the Dark Lord up.

But then again, Severus’s use as a spy would be reduced if Dumbledore left Hogwarts. And with Dumbledore gone, he would be expected to do more at Hogwarts for the Dark Lord, despite the Aurors’ presence - Voldemort claimed those were of no consequence. He was not entirely wrong, but one could not be too careful, especially as a spy.

And finally there was the nagging feeling that Dumbledore might not trust him anymore. Severus was sure the Headmaster knew who had killed Bellatrix, so why wouldn’t he tell him, if that would improve his position at Voldemort’s side? Whoever managed to kill the crazy witch had to be powerful enough to fend of any other Death Eater, so it could not be concern for them. And nothing was as important as securing Severus’s cover as a spy.

Severus shook his head. If Dumbledore didn’t trust him anymore, did that mean he was expendable? Like Vance had been? He didn’t like to think about that, he really wanted to see Voldemort dead, but he had to think of himself as well.

Maybe some of the other Order members knew anything. They would not talk to him, but he was a Potion Master, he had ways to make them talk, and to make them forget about any discussion they had with him...

*****

“There he is, better watch out. Don’t let him get behind you, he’ll curse you in the back.”

“Merlin’s balls, he’s really back! Scum!”

“Couldn’t they have ‘fixed’ him in St. Mungo’s? I’d have paid for that, everyone would have.”

“Why’s he still a prefect, after what he has done? Are the teachers crazy?”

Draco Malfoy was livid. Here he was, back at Hogwarts after a week of pain and suffering, battling death at St. Mungo’s, and students were talking about him behind his back, pretending he couldn’t hear them! The cursed Gryffindor’s were the worst, they all but shouted their comments when he was in the vicinity, but the Hufflepuffs were almost as bad, staring at him silently, with their ranks closed, as if he was a dangerous monster they might have to put down! And the Ravenclaws avoided him! And all of the other prefects of his year had stated they’d not patrol with him!

Even his own house was not as supportive as it should be for the victim of a crazed, bloodthirsty murderous mudblood! Granger had almost killed him, after all. She had killed Crabbe and Goyle, and only his superior reflexes and magic had saved him from her spells! At least Pansy had welcomed him back, and sat with him, as did most of his year, but the looks some of the girls gave him, when they thought he couldn’t see them… 

The school should have welcomed him back, praised him for exposing how dangerous Granger and Potter were, how corrupted by muggles! Instead he felt like an outcast. Even his own head of house had stated he’d better have an Auror as a bodyguard. He, Draco Malfoy, patrolling with a bodyguard? He’d write his father, if he didn’t knew that it was his idea.

It was all Granger’s fault. If she had not killed his friends...

*****

Ron Weasley was staring at Malfoy while he ate at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He was so focused on studying the dark wizard, he didn’t even remember what he ate. 

“He’s just sitting there, as if he had done nothing wrong.” Lavender, sitting next to him, very close too, sounded incredulous. 

“He probably thinks he did nothing wrong. Scum like him believe everyone else exists to serve them,” Ron stated with conviction. Slytherins were all like that, looking down on everyone else.

“But someone has to do something, before he …” Lavender trailed off, but everyone near them understood what she meant.

“Don’t worry. He won’t be able to do anything, not with the entire school knowing about him, and an Auror following him around.” Ron would feel better if Harry had left the map with them, that way they could observe every step Malfoy took. He didn’t trust the Aurors, not anymore, but with enough witnesses, even Malfoy would not be able to buy his way out of trouble forever. And his brothers were working on something, just in case Malfoy had to be dealt with. Or got close to Ginny. Or Lavender.

“Snape’s still protecting him.” Lavender was not as optimistic as Ron was.

“I know. The git gave me detention for ‘threatening a student’, and even called my parents over it.” As if his parents would believe the git, not after what Draco had done, or tried to do.

*****

Auror Albert Bering studied the house on the hill in front of him and his partner, Cyril Fleawood. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to make out the old walls, and the sturdy door, and the remains of a fence. “Doesn’t look like much. Are we sure that Potter and Granger are hiding there?”

“The Granger family bought the house recently according to the paperwork at the Ministry.” Cyril shrugged. “Enough of a reason to check it out.” That was typical for Cyril. He was not lazy, quite the contrary, but he was a bit too content to follow orders, and reserved all his questioning for interrogating suspects.

“If they are there, can we expect Black and Lupin too?” Albert liked to think he questioned everything he was told - from anyone. Though he usually kept his opinion to himself. One did not advance in the Ministry otherwise, and he was looking to retire with a nice pension in a few years.

“According to our files, Black tried to kill Potter, and Lupin helped Black. If they are there, Potter and Granger are likely dead, or wishing they were.” Cyril did not sound like he cared one way or the other. After 20 years in the service, not many cared, especially if it came to dark wizards and witches. 

Albert had seen the remains of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, but he was not quite sure that this was the work of a dark witch, mudblood or not. And yet, it was better to assume it was. “If we’re tangling with the Boy-Who-Lived or You-Know-Who’s lieutenant, plus their partners, we should maybe have more reinforcements than two Aurors straight out of training.” 

He glanced at the two, Copperhead and whatshername, Blyren, who were laying down anti-muggle wards on the premises, as he had ordered. They had not impressed him so far, and he didn’t think they would in the near future. Too green, too innocent. Still thought they were great for passing Auror training. “And I am not so sure about waiting till nightfall. I’d rather tackle the house in daylight.”

“We’re trained for night combat, they are not. We’ll have the advantage.”

“That’s what the orders said.” Albert knew they usually didn’t get such ‘recommendations’ with their orders, usually Aurors were left to solve their cases as they saw fit. But if it involved the Boy-Who-Lived, rules and custom went out the Floo, apparently.

“Exactly.” Cyril still did not sound concerned at all. Unflappable, Albert knew, even in combat.

He sighed. “Well, with the way our two new Aurors are taking their time, we’ll not be ready to enter until the sun has set anyway.”

*****

Roselyn was licking her lips in anticipation. Soon… soon… She could hear the Aurors outside, grumbling. Impatient, or bored, either would make them sloppy. Four of them might have been a challenge for her, if they were not either old and lazy, and young and stupid. She’d still enjoy it - killing wizards never got old. Their blood tasted the sweetest.

There! The sun had set, and the two children had finished setting the wards. It was time. Roselyn stepped back from the dusty window she had been looking out of behind a thick old curtain, and disillusioned herself. A flick of her wand started dim voices and flickering lights in the cellar, just obvious enough for an auror to notice, once he was inside. 

“Open up, we’re Aurors!” The two old aurors were in front, the two children were behind the house. Standard tactics.

Roselyn snickered silently, wondering how often anyone would actually follow that command -  one who had reasons to fear aurors, of course. 

After a minute, the front door was blown open by a Reducto. Roselyn raised her eyebrow. That was a bit more violent than she had expected. Maybe the Auror was a pureblood with the right attitude against mudbloods? It did not matter; the Dark Lord had made it clear what was to happen, and the vampire was only too glad to obey him - in this case. She flicked her wand again, and the voices created by her spell changed, becoming louder and more urgent.

“They’re in the cellar!”

Predictably, the old Aurors called the children in, to guard their backs while they went down. The door there was locked and protected though, and would keep them occupied for a while. Time enough to deal with the children.

With the ease of long experience, she silently snuck up on the young auror watching the front door’s remains. Too distracted, too young to notice her, he was easy prey. A hand on his mouth stifled his scream when she crushed his wand - and arm - with her other hand. She dragged him into the living room, and her teeth went into his neck, feeding.

The taste of his blood, his frantic but futile attempts to break her grip with his feeble, human strength, were such a rush, she almost missed the girl appearing in the door. Almost, though - her Body-Binding Curse got her before she could finish her own spell, and the girl was forced to watch while Roselyn drank her partner dry. 

Then it was the girl’s turn. The terror in her eyes as she realized what was about to happen to her while she was utterly helpless, could not even scream, made the vampiress shiver with delight. Her hunger sated by the male auror, she didn’t drain her victim right away, but ran her fingernails over the Auror’s face, leaving shallow cuts in the soft skin. Soon blood and tears were running down her cheeks, and Roselyn lapped the mixture up. Delicious!

Three dead Aurors were as good as four, weren’t they? She could take this girl, and take her time with her. Maybe even turn her…

“Blyren! Copperhead! Where are you… Merlin’s balls!”

Roselyn whirled around in time and used her captive to shield her body from the flames leaping at her from the tip of the Auror’s wand. Sloppy! She was angry at herself - not only had she made a beginner’s mistake, but her toy was now ruined! As expected, the old Auror stopped his spell when he realized he was roasting the girl. Smiling, she threw the burning Auror at him, then followed it up with a curse. “Bombarda!”

The Auror had been quicker than she had expected, casting a fire spell right away upon spotting her. Good reflexes and good eyes. He was not quick enough to avoid both the burning witch and the spell and was slung to the ground from the force of the explosion that turned her toy into chunks of flesh and bone. So much blood, wasted!

Roselyn charged the Auror before he could recover, her boot lashing out and shattering his hand while she sealed the stairs leading to the cellar with her wand, trapping the other old Auror there. 

“Ince…”

Another kick that shattered his skull ended the wizard’s attempt to burn her. A second wand, and the fortitude to draw it despite his wounds! If he had been faster and able to cast silently, he might have been a threat. She threw the body into the living room, next to her first victim, and used another bombarda to blow up both, covering the floor, walls and parts of the ceiling with blood and body parts. She didn’t like the spell, it wasted food, but orders were orders in this case.

One Auror left. She could take her time with that one, she hoped. He wouldn’t escape the cellar. Then the house shook - the last Auror had tried to blow a hole into the ceiling. Roselyn grinned. That one could be fun. The desperate and crafty ones usually were.

She disillusioned herself again, then removed the seal on the entrance to the cellar and sent a cloud of green gas down. It was harmless, but her foe would not now that and have to react as if it was poison. She ran down the stairs into the cellar so fast, she would have been a blur even without her spell. As expected the wizard had cast a bubblehead charm and was now banishing the harmless gas.

“Expelliarmus!” 

Her spell caught him, throwing him back and taking his wand away. Like his partner though he had a second wand, which appeared in his hand before he finished rolling behind what meager cover an overturned table provided.

“Reducto.” 

The table turned into slivers of metal - Roselyn had transfigured all the wood in the cellar beforehand, no need to give her enemies weapons against her - but the Auror was protected by a shield. The blast still pushed him back, against the wall. Almost a challenge.

Piercing curses, which she prefered to explosions, broke the shield before the wizard could recover from the impact on the wall, and she rushed him, grabbing and breaking his wand arm before he could hit her with a spell.

He was a stubborn one, cursing her even while she already fed. Almost a challenge, but in the end he was just a meal.

*****

“‘Aurors Assassinated!’ ‘Muggleborn Menace!’ We were not even near that part of Britain!” Hermione was fuming and threw the Daily Prophet on the table. “Have you seen the pictures of us? They make me look like Bellatrix, with the same hair!”

Harry was not about to say that there was a certain, vague resemblance between his girlfriend’s hair in the morning, and the dead dark witch’s hair after Azkaban. He wasn’t suicidal. Instead he commented: “The articles are full of lies. According to them, I am the next Dark Lord, and you’re my dark witch, and Draco’s a brave hero who tried to stop us from killing all students in Hogwarts to gain dark powers.”

“How can anyone believe that? ‘The Aurors were killed with the same spells that claimed the lives of two promising students of House Slytherin, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. One cannot help but wonder who taught the witch such spells. Rumors that she had been receiving special lessons from Headmaster Dumbledore himself are currently being investigated’. They were the dumbest students in the school, bullies who barely knew one end of a wand from the other, and everyone knew it! And the spells I used were spells everyone learned in DADA!” Hermione was pacing and throwing up her hands.

“Everyone in 7th year.” Harry winced when his girlfriend glared at him, but it was true.

“And now we’ve got a kill on sight order. Well, I’ve got one. It’s speculated that I might be controlling you, like Voldemort controlled his poor imperiused Death Eaters, so you’re still to be arrested for questioning.” Hermione sat down, still angry.

“It doesn’t matter. If they capture us we’d be murdered before we reach trial anyway.” Harry knew Malfoy had his hooks too deep in the Ministry. “And every Auror who is hunting us should know better than to support such criminals like Fudge and Malfoy.” He wasn’t about to say it out loud, but he had no intention to hold back against anyone who’d go after Hermione, or himself, on Fudge’s order. He was training with Watchers, after all, and they trained to kill monsters. In Harry’s opinion, anyone who supported scum like Malfoy qualified for the same treatment.

Hermione held his gaze for a second, then nodded. She had understood him. And she approved. Her uncle had been very supportive, praising her quick reaction, which had helped her get over what remaining guilt she may have felt over killing Malfoy’s minions.

“They are blaming the Headmaster for it as well.” Hermione stabbed her finger down on the lead article. “They’ll be using this to oust him.”

Harry shrugged. Hogwarts had stopped being his home some time ago. “It’s not as if he’s been doing that much good there. Not since Umbridge came with the Aurors.” 

“But if the Ministry replaces him, things at Hogwarts will only get worse. Draco and his ilk will have the run of the place.”

Harry closed his eyes. Hogwarts may not feel like home anymore, but most of his friends were still there. “If it comes to that, we’ll have to do something about it. One way or the other. Do we have a communication mirror we can get to Ron?”

“I’ll make one if I need to.”

*****

“My Ronald ‘stared menacingly’ at Draco Malfoy? That’s why you called me here?” 

Molly Weasley sounded like she did not trust her ears. Severus Snape winced, expecting one of her tirades. He was, of course, correct.

“That foul little Death Eater spawn tries to rape a young witch, escapes justice thanks to his father’s bloody gold, and you care about students glaring at him?! Have you called Lucius Malfoy in here as well, and complained about all the threats his criminal of a son uttered against children over the years?! What is going on at this school!?”

Severus thanked his foresight of doubling down on the privacy spells, but wished he had used one sound dampening spell on himself. Molly Weasley was as loud in person as one of her howlers. He let her run out of breath, and then spoke up before she could start again. “Would you like some tea?”

“No I do not want any tea! I want this school to be safe for children, not a hunting ground for rapists!”

Severus had known she would refuse. That was why the little incense burner behind her was currently filling the room with a derivate of a drowsing potion he had taken an antidote against beforehand. It still took a few more minutes filled with accusations and righteous anger until the redheaded witch succumbed to his concoction. 

Sighing with relief, he took out the bottle of veritaserum he had prepared. He’d get the answers he needed to avoid the Dark Lord’s wrath.

*****

“Good parade, but check your shoulder, it’s one of your tells.”

India nodded, and corrected her stance. Kit knew staff fighting. He was not as fast or strong as the Slayer, of course, but he was experienced, and a great teacher. The best a Slayer could want. 

She loved training with her Watcher. Just the two of them, sparring. Trading blows and advice and quips. And Kit looked damn good in his sparring gear, even with the additional padding, when he was all focused and worked up. India herself was not wearing padding, but skin-tight exercise gear. When he had commented on it she had claimed it was so he could see her muscles better - and to distract him. He had glowered at her after that, but hadn’t been really mad. She knew him well enough.

India raised her staff, and attacked again, pushing him back with a series of quick blows. He was defending himself well, even counter-attacked a few times, but she was the Slayer. Another move caught his staff, forcing it up. She could not resist. With a twist she disarmed him, then pulled him to the side, right into an O Soto Gari. She did not hold his arm as he went down on the mat, to make sure he fell on his side, but followed him to the ground.

Before Kit could recover she was on top of him, straddling him and holding his wrists in hers, above his head. “I win.” 

Kit, panting, nodded. “That was a good throw, though this position wouldn’t be a safe way to hold a Vampire.”

India nodded. She could feel him tense up under her, testing her grip, then relax again. 

“You can let me up now.”

India smiled. “I could.” She did not release his wrists nor move off his stomach however. Instead she slid back until she was lying on top of him, her face an inch above his.

“India…” Kit was breathing heavily, she noticed, and slightly but - for a Slayer’s senses - noticeably more flushed than during their sparring. 

Licking her lips, she put her lips next to his ear, pressing her cheek to his. He squirmed a bit and she was sure that if not for the padding he was wearing, she’d feel his reaction. She inhaled his scent, shivering. So close… she felt the urge to rip that padding off, rip all their clothes off, and do what she should have long ago. She resisted though. Instead she whispered “I love you” into his ear, then rolled off him.

*****

“You are under arrest, and relieved from your position as Headmaster, Dumbledore!” Dolores Umbridge exclaimed as soon as she entered Albus’s office followed by eight Aurors.

Albus Dumbledore had expected that since the day Miss Granger and Harry had left the school. Once again he lamented the mistakes he had made that allowed Lucius Malfoy to gain so much influence at the Ministry, and especially with the Minister. Outwardly though he remained calm, petting Fawkes, who was sitting in front of him on his desk. “Arrested? What are the charges?”

“Treason. Murder. Dark Magic! We know about your conspiracy to overthrow the minister!” Dolores raised her chin while the Aurors fanned out. They could not spread out enough too far where they were, near the door though, and seemed not to dare to step closer to the old wizard.

Albus raised his eyebrow. “It seems Cornelius has given up any pretense of not being a puppet for Lucius then. If I may ask, who is to become the next Headmaster of Hogwarts?”

“I have been chosen for the position. I will clear this school of dissidents, rebels and dangerous elements unfit to use magic. I will make it so our precious children can be educated in a safe environment again.” Dolores smiled in triumph while the Aurors with her - hand-picked by Cornelius on Lucius’s advice, no doubt - started to step closer. Their wands, pointed at him, were still not as steady as they should be, but the wizards were growing bolder with each breath they took without Albus doing anything.

“I see.” 

And Albus did. He had hoped Gawain would be chosen as his successor. The Auror was fair, skilled, and smart. He had protected Draco from the rest of the school, which Albus had hoped would be enough to endear him to Lucius. A vain hope, as it had turned out to be, like many other hopes he had had.

“Now hand over your wa...”

Albus didn’t whisper any syllable, did not move his wand at all, other than hold it, and yet his spell slung the nine other people in his office against the stone walls with such force, most were knocked unconscious at once - a mercy, given that all had broken bones.

The old wizard slowly got up, casually stunning those aurors who were not out yet, and walked over to Dolores. The witch had not directly hit the wall, but the softer body of the Auror behind her. She had been rattled anyway, and had lost her wand in the process. Now the pink-clad woman was staring at him with a fearful, shocked expression. If Albus had not known just what kind of witch she was, he might even have felt some pity, and not regret for what he was about to do. 

“I had hoped Cornelius would not have descended so far into his madness as to put you in charge, Dolores. But seeing as he did, I have no choice but to do what I must, to protect the children at Hogwarts.” 

Before she could say anything he stunned her, then transfigured her into a small pink doll. Mister Travers would appreciate the opportunity to interrogate her, which should create some goodwill for Albus. Dolores would not be able to torture the students and persecute the muggleborns and half-bloods. And he would not have to kill her himself.

He ordered a house elf to take the eight wounded Aurors to the school’s infirmary, then sealed his office. Trying to break in would occupy whoever followed him, which would reduce the time they could spend on doing something worse. Turning towards Fawkes, Albus took a last look around the office. He had cleared it of his important possessions a week ago, but the memories were not as easy to transport or dispose of. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, had been all he had ever wanted to be, after the follies of his youth. It hurt, leaving a position he had felt so happy in. It hurt even more, having to become someone he had never wanted to be in the first place. But as so many decades ago, there was no choice. Not anymore.

Albus Dumbledore, vanquisher of Grindelwald, was all that was left of him. 

******* **


	14. Setups

**Chapter 14: Setups**

Quentin Travers stared at the ugly, drooling witch strapped to the interrogation chair in the small cell beneath the Council’s headquarters. He had expected a Death Eater, like Amycus Carrow. A monster in human shape following a mad, unnatural creature, reveling in blood and death. He hadn’t expected an even worse monster following a fool. The witch shared so many views and opinions with Death Eaters, and yet would fight them simply because they opposed the bureaucracy she was working for. It was the kind of evil Watchers did not have to fight often, but which humanity was familiar with.

He shook his head. To think she had been trying to kill a boy just because he told the truth about Voldemort’s return. No, to destroy his very soul. And the souls of any other humans who had the misfortune of being in the way. She had loosened demons on Britain, for political gains. The plans she had had for the school, for muggleborn wizards and witches, children still… Quentin would have understood the plans for the monsters, of course, if she had wanted them destroyed because they preyed on humans. But the witch wanted them destroyed just because they were not pureblood wizards or witches. A familiar kind of evil indeed.

He longed to watch her burn, slowly, screaming as the flames licked at her feet, then her legs, then her body. She deserved it, even more than Carrow. And yet a slow hanging would have to do in her case as well. Not just because it would be too much of a bother to burn her at a stake, but also because to indulge in revenge, instead of justice, was too dangerous. For himself, and even more so for his grandniece. 

Quentin had called Hermione and Mister Potter after he had found out that Umbridge had sent the Dementors to Little Whinging. The two had heard her answer themselves, after he had repeated the question. To their credit, they had not attacked the monster - then again, Mister Potter’s relatives had not been the best examples of human beings. Still, they had more self-control most teenagers had, even though they had both been trembling with rage when they had left some time ago. After they had found out just how corrupt the Ministry of Magic was.

He knew that those revelations would widen the gap between the young couple and the wizards. Knew it, and liked it. 

Quentin addressed Fitzburg, who was waiting with the Veritaserum: “Put the gag in again, and make sure her bindings are secure. Call me once she recovers and we can proceed with the execution.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quentin nodded at the young Watcher and left the room. He had more plans to make.

*****

“And I will do my utmost to restore this school to what it should be, the best school in the Magical World. Standards have slipped under my predecessor, but …”

Ron Weasley tuned the new Headmaster, Albert Runcorn, out. He knew enough. Anyone Fudge would install as Headmaster would either be a stupid toady, or a Death Eater. Or both. Runcorn seemed to be a Death Eater, or close enough. As he had mentioned twice already, he was a Slytherin alumni. His remarks on the need to show proper respect for one’s betters showed everyone with a brain that he was a bigot too. And an idiot, trying to replace Dumbledore, after the Headmaster had wiped the floor with a dozen Aurors and sealed his office so no one had been able to enter it ever since.

The young wizard looked around in the Great Hall. The Gryffindors were frowning, muttering under their breaths. Rebellious. The Hufflepuffs seemed to sit even closer together, with the youngest near the oldest, in the middle. Spaced so they would be easy to protect. The Ravenclaws were cold, distant. No surprise, their Head of House had too much goblin blood for the Ministry’s liking. And the Slytherins, or most of them, were smiling, triumphantly. Especially Malfoy.

Ron didn’t smirk, though he felt like it. The idiots thought they had won. They were wrong. He glanced over at Lavender, who was keeping her attention on the Slytherins, and squeezed her hand under the table, providing what comfort he could without being obvious. Malfoy wouldn’t hurt her, or anyone else.

*****

“What do you have?” Ron asked, sitting on his bed next to Lavender. The room was a bit crowded, even with Harry missing - and that thought still made him wince with pain. Neville was there, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, his brothers and the rest of the Quidditch team, Lee - most of Gryffindor’s fifth year and older students were here, actually. At least the ones with guts.

Fred grinned with a feral expression he shared with George. “We’ve got a lot of pranks ready. Nasty ones. As soon as the Slytherins try to lord it over others, they’ll pay. Pomfrey will be very busy.”

Ron nodded. “And the snakes will try to lord it over us. You all saw them in the Great Hall.” Not all of the Slytherins had looked smug, but Ron didn’t care much, at this point.

“Remember, stay together as much as possible. Don’t go anywhere alone. And if you see Malfoy, inform the rest. If we keep an eye on him, he can’t do anything.” Ron stated. And if Malfoy tried anything anyway, it would not result in more work for Matron Pomfrey. The Weasleys had an understanding. Malfoy had crossed a line he should not have crossed. “Keep in touch with the Puffs and Ravens. We’re in the same boat.”

“What if the new Headmaster calls the Aurors to arrest us?” Neville asked. “I’ve heard from Gran that he’s a Ministry stooge and would do that.”

Ron had heard similar things from his dad, and even Percy had come to his senses, after he had realized what Malfoy could do to Ginny. “We’ve got the Room of Requirement. If worst comes to worst, anyone can hide there until,” he looked at Harry’s bed before continuing, ”help arrives.” The other students understood. Or thought they understood. They didn’t know about the Slayer, of course. 

If the new, fake Headmaster was dead, Ron thought with a ruthlessness that surprised him, then someone with more sense could take over, and keep the Ministry out until things there … changed. The wards of the school were among the strongest in the world, and with the Slayer as help, they could deal with the aurors in the school, and the Slytherins.

*****

Severus Snape wasn’t trembling or shaking when he met the Dark Lord, but he was nervous. Voldemort had been growing more and more impatient - and violent - lately. Even less forgiving than he had been too. The loss of Bellatrix and the lack of progress with regards to the prophecy affected his mood. Hopefully, the news that Dumbledore was now wanted for kidnapping, treason, murder, Dark Magic, and conspiracy against the Ministry had improved his mood.

“Milord?” 

“Ah, Severus. Step forward. What news do you have to report?” Voldemort, his inhuman face smiling, seemed to be in a good mood as he beckoned the Potions Master to come closer to what was serving as his throne.

“I’ve managed to find out the names of two people who were involved with the murder of Bellatrix.”

The Dark Lord hissed and grew still for a moment, then stood up with a smooth, flowing movement that showed that he was no longer human, even more so than his appearance. His robes billowed out behind him in a way that Severus couldn’t help but notice, and compare to the charms on his own robes before he got ahold of himself.

“Tell me who dared to slay my Bellatrix! Tell me their names!” Voldemort stepped in front of Severus, so close the Potions Master could see every detail on his monstrous face.

He kept his composure, used to such sights. “William and Charlie Weasley, milord. The eldest sons of Arthur Weasley.”

The Dark Lord seemed to tremble with rage. “Arthur Weasley… the one who slew my Nagini. His sons slew my Bellatrix?”

Severus nodded. It was not entirely correct, but they had helped.

“They will pay! Their entire family will pay for this! Leave me! I have plans to make.”

“Yes, milord.” Severus bowed, and left, passing Rookwood as he left the room. He briefly wondered what the former Unspeakable was up to, but then focused on whether or not he should warn Dumbledore about the Dark Lord’s plans for the Weasleys. Most of the redheaded brood was useless, as were their parents, but the eldest sons had proven to be useful in the battle against Voldemort. But were they useful enough to be worth the risk of exposure, how slim it might be? 

And wouldn’t their resolve and dedication increase, should their family suffer a tragic loss at the hands of Voldemort’s Death Eaters? Revenge, as Severus knew very well, was a very powerful motivation. Besides, the family could spare more than a few members for the cause - there were far too many of them around as it was, and they were troublemakers, the lot of them at Hogwarts, picking on his Slytherins.

*****

Quentin Travers looked up from the summary of the information the Council had gotten from Umbridge when his secretary announced Mister Botwell. The young Watcher looked a bit … agitated. For a Watcher, of course. Since Botwell had stared death in the eye multiple times, and faced unspeakable horrors, as the Watcher of the current Slayer was wont to do, Quentin was quite curious what might have led the man to seek him out without an appointment. It couldn’t be an emergency, he had seen Botwell deal with those before, with unflappable composure.

“Have a seat, Mister Botwell. What was it you needed to speak to me about?” Quentin put the report away.

The young man drew a deep breath, then met his eyes. “I have to report an issue that could jeopardize the performance of the Slayer.”

He had Quentin’s full attention now, and judging from the young man’s stiffening posture, he knew just how serious this was. “Please elaborate.”

“The Slayer seems to be infatuated with me. She has made advances that leave no doubt, sir.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, but he was relaxing already. That certainly was not something serious. Isolated young girl, on the cusp of womanhood, fighting at the side of an older, more mature man, not related to her - it was almost a textbook case for the development of such feelings. “Do you fear for your virtue, Mister Botwell?”

The younger Watcher stared at him. “N-no, sir. She’d never… I mean… not India.” 

As amusing as it seemed, Quentin wasn’t sure he’d be so trusting in the other man’s place. There had been reports in the past, of Slayers who had been a tad too aggressive, but Miss Cohen was Botwell’s slayer, and he had to trust his judgement. It was his virtue anyway.

“Ah. So you are not sure if you can resist her. Do you return her feelings then, Mister Botwell?” 

This time the Watcher looked down. “Yes, sir,” he pressed out, obviously ashamed of himself.

“There shouldn’t be a problem then.”

Botwell’s head flew up and he stared at him with wide, open eyes. “Sir?”

Quentin smiled indulgently at the naivety of youth. “Mister Botwell, this is not the first time such a situation has come up. Far from it. The bonds between a Watcher and his Slayer are tight, and given their situation, very likely to grow into something else. Sometimes a bond similar to that between a parent and a daughter develops, sometimes it’s a more romantic relationship.”

“B-but, sir…”

“Mister Botwell. You know the life expectancy of a Slayer.”

“Yes, sir.” Botwell nodded, wincing. 

“There’s nothing wrong with letting a Slayer be happy while she can. They tend to live longer that way. And since you return her feelings and she’s above the age of consent…” Quentin spread his hands. He didn’t mention that a Watcher often did not survive their Slayer’s demise - everyone knew that when volunteering for such an assignment.

Botwell still looked like his Slayer had hit him over the head with a mace, but he nodded again.

  
“If that’s all then I think this matter is settled.” Quentin dismissed him with another, patronizing smile.

Once the young man had left his office, the old watcher stood up and walked over to the window. He stared at the city, but he didn’t see it, not really. He remembered another Slayer, and the regrets, after her death, of never having offered her the kind of comfort she had been seeking. And he wondered if she would have served longer as a Slayer, if he had.

*****

Lucius Malfoy was once again close to hexing Fudge the Fool, as he thought of him. The Minister for Magic’s Undersecretary had been kidnapped by Dumbledore. That was a serious situation - the ugly toad knew far too much about the deals Fudge had made. Though Lucius was reasonably sure she didn’t know too much about his personal dealings with the Minister. He had informed the Dark Lord about this, and if he should be proven wrong, the result would be a disaster. Despite this, Lucius was too experienced as a politician to let his annoyance and concern show.

“We cannot fret over Dolores too much, Cornelius. Even senile and mad, Dumbledore would not kill her - he has just stunned the Aurors sent after him, after all.” It would have been much better had the old wizard killed those who stood against him, in Lucius’s opinion. Less loose ends.

“You’re right, my friend, of course. We cannot give up hope.”

Lucius smiled blandly. “Instead we should worry about our children. Dumbledore has his office sealed, and certainly knows ways in and out of Hogwarts no one else does. There need to be more Aurors present, in case he returns. Imagine if he kidnapped children!”

Fudge gasped. “Merlin! You are right! We have to do something! I’ll send a another two squads of Aurors there.”

That was good - Draco would be safer, his son had complained about vicious attacks on Slytherins - but not good enough for the Dark Lord. “But you’d better keep more Aurors ready to reinforce them. Dumbledore defeated eight of your best Aurors, he cannot be taken lightly.” Aurors chosen for their political reliability instead of their skill, but nevertheless, it was an impressive feat. Although, or so Lucius thought, likely the result of a trap in the Headmaster’s office.

“You’re right, of course. I’ll see to it at once. We have to think of the children!” 

Lucius was feeling more at ease when he left the Minister’s office. Not only would his son be protected from those blood traitors who threatened him and believed the lies spread by Potter and his mudblood, but the Dark Lord’s plan was set in motion. Soon the prophecy would be in his hands.

*****

_ And lo and behold, Myrken the Mad drew his wand out of his palm, as if it was a holster. No blood flowed, nor did he show any sign of pain - another sign of his madness. _

Hermione Granger studied the paragraph she had just read again. That was the second source she had found in the Council’s library that talked about Myrken Flenswater being able to create extradimensional pockets in his body as if they were bags. As intriguing as such a spell was - she could think of a number of applications besides mere storage, though they’d require more testing - if he had been able to do this, would he have taken his life’s works with him, to Azkaban? Unwillingly, or willingly? How likely was it that he would have kept his most advanced achievements on, no, inside him all the time? 

Very likely, she decided. And if he had had it at Azkaban, would it still be in his cell, or in his grave? She stared at the paragraph again. If her theory was right, then she’d have to head to Azkaban, the most infamous place of Wizarding Britain. Even with the Dementors gone, and the human guards and those prisoners who had survived Voldemort’s assault - if there were any - moved to the mainland, it would be dangerous. The wards might still be active - would still be active, probably. Some Dementors might have returned even.

It was dangerous, but it needed to be done. Harry’s life, his soul, depended on it. Hermione quickly sketched down notes to present her case as perfectly as possible, then gathered the relevant books and went off to see her great-uncle.

She tried not to think of the horrors that might await her. Harry needed this, needed her. And she’d do anything for him.

*****

“Why do we have to travel by night?” Harry Potter asked again. He didn’t seem to think visiting Azkaban at night was a good idea.

“The ferryman is off duty now, so no one will miss him, or his amulet. With that we can take the official route to Azkaban without triggering alarms. Otherwise we’d have to deal with all the misdirection wards, which could alert the Ministry,” Hermione explained. The ferryman was currently under the influence of a potion, and in his home, while the amulet was with them. “We’re harder to spot that way too.” Wizards didn’t have invented magical night vision goggles yet, as far as she knew. Something else to enchant, once she had time - the usual models didn’t work in areas saturated with magic. 

“There’s the Disillusion Charm.”

“Not even the Headm…. Dumbledore can disillusion an entire ferry.” Hermione would have felt as bad or worse as Harry about this, if the old wizard had not been with them. Between Dumbledore, Fitzburg, Wilkinson - another Watcher wizard - and the Slayer and Botwell, they should be safe enough though. Harry had insisted on coming with her anyway. And seeing as the island had been the home of the Dementors, having the boy who sent dozens of the demons fleeing with one spell when he was but a third year student with them was a smart move.

“We could have flown.”

“Over the sea? And through their misdirection wards?” Hermione didn’t like flying on brooms. Too flimsy, too dangerous. “And India and Mister Botwell can’t use brooms.” And Hermione herself wasn’t a good flyer either, not that she would say so out loud. She had her pride.

“We could have doubled up.”

“Harry… we’ll be there soon enough.” She reached out and took his hand, then pulled him to her, wrapping her arm around his waist as the barge they were on sped through the night, towards the island hidden from normal humans. Fortunately the sea was calm this night. She wasn’t sure there were charms to deal with rougher seas. Harry sighed, but held her.

Behind them the Slayer was sitting next to Mister Botwell - very close to him. A bit closer and she’d be sitting in his lap, Hermione thought. Something had changed between those two, she was certain of that, but she didn’t want to ask. What if they were not allowed to have a relationship, and she’d mess it up for them by exposing them? She wouldn’t do that to anyone in love, not after she had fallen in love herself. Or had finally realized she had fallen in love long ago.

Suddenly she felt a tingling running over her skin and the empty area in front of them was replaced with a looming island, barely visible in the moonlight. Azkaban. The island of despair and madness. She shivered, but told herself it was just the cold air overcoming her warming charms - it wasn’t even spring yet.

*****

“Are you certain of that, Severus?” The Dark Lord’s voice held the promise of unimaginable pain should Severus’s information turn out to be wrong.

“I am, milord.” Severus Snape bowed. “Dumbledore has contacted me and told me he’ll be away, outside Britain, for some time.” The former Headmaster had indeed done so. He wouldn’t have expected Severus to inform the Dark Lord of that, but he hadn’t forbidden it either. Severus didn’t see any harm using this information to improve his standing with the Dark Lord, to gain more of his trust and informations, could possibly cause. Potter and the mudblood were safe, Dumbledore had reassured him of that, so the worst that could happen was that the Order lost some more dunderheads. As long as Potter and Dumbledore were safe everyone else was expendable. And Dumbledore would be back the next day anyway. 

“Very good.” Voldemort smiled, his thin lips opening and showing perfectly white teeth. “You have done well, Severus. We will use this opportunity to secure the Prophecy while the old fool is away.” He turned to Lucius Malfoy, who was waiting a bit away. “Lucius, order the decoy to start his work.”

“At once, milord.” The sycophantic blond wizard bowed so deep, his head almost hit the stone floor, and disappeared with a grace Severus was still jealous of, after close to 20 years. The Potions Master did not dwell on that though - he had to find a way to inform Dumbledore that the prophecy was in danger!

*****

Azkaban was as desolate and dark as Harry Potter had imagined. All of them but Wilkinson, who was staying on the ferry as a guard, had stepped off the dock and were walking on the path leading up the the prison now. No plant seemed to grow on the rocky island, nothing shielded it from the cold winds of the North Sea. The walls in front of them were so dark, they seemed to become part of the night sky as they rose above them, and the whole island seemed to be a few degrees colder than the air above the sea around it. He shuddered, imagining that Sirius had spent over a decade here, unjustly imprisoned. And his godfather had been tortured by Dementors as well.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was looking around with interest. The young witch at least didn’t let the gloomy surroundings get to her, focusing on her mission instead. Determined, stubborn, brave - that was his Hermione. He smiled at her and was rewarded with a brief smile in return, before she focused on the prison again. 

“Remember, Apparition is impossible on the island and in the surrounding waters. You have to go quite a distance to pass through the wards before you can apparate away,” Dumbledore explained, leading the group - he had been there before, if not often, as he had explained. “Inside the prison proper, disillusion charms will not work. Those wards were not extended over the whole island though, since at the time of their creation, warding enclosed stone buildings was far cheaper than warding areas.”

Harry listened, if not with as much attention as Hermione. The impromptu history lesson did serve to distract him from more morbid thoughts though, which likely was what the older wizard had intended.

A sudden movement to his side caught his attention. He whirled around, wand pointed at the disturbance, and spotted a dog-sized creature on the ground, four misshapen limbs jerking and twitching. A dagger was buried to the hilt in its monstrous head.

“Gith’enre demon. A variant of a hellhound according to some scholars. Attracted to areas saturated in misery and death,” Botwell explained while the Slayer retrieved her dagger. “It generally won’t attack an adult human, unless desperate or sensing a weakness.”

That did not make Harry feel safer. Who knew if he or Hermione counted as adults in the eyes of a demon?

“I don’t sense any other demons nearby.” 

India’s pronouncement on the other hand did make Harry feel safer, and he nodded at her with a smile. Even so the interruption had destroyed the scholarly mood, and the group continued in silence towards the gate of the prison.

  
“The graveyard is inside the walls. The first Minister to use the island as a prison declared no inmate would be leaving, not even after death. That changed when shorter prison sentences were introduced, but the graveyard’s location did not,” Dumbledore explained while opening the gate with a flick of his wand.

They walked through a dark, narrow passage - lined with murder holes in the ceiling, as Hermione helpfully pointed out to Harry - into a courtyard surrounded with walls of such a height that the area, despite its size, seemed likely to be shrouded in shadows even during the day. Several rows of densely packed small stone plates were visible to the side - headstones, Harry realized. Hermione was already walking towards them, and he ran after her. Who knew what monsters could rise from their graves, in such a cursed location? Vampires were bad enough…

Just as Hermione had found the grave she had been looking for, a white, luminous dove arrived near Dumbledore. A Patronus.

“Headmaster! The Dark Lord is moving to secure the prophecy. He has set plans in motion to lure the Aurors to Hogwarts too.”

That had been Snape’s voice… Harry would recognize it anywhere.

Dumbledore turned to them. “Voldemort is moving into the Department of Mysteries.”

“He can’t get the prophecy!” Hermione stated. Harry knew that as well - they had replaced it with a copy for just this very reason.

“Indeed. But with the Aurors off on a foolish chase to Hogwarts, there are a number of things he can do in the Ministry to advance his goals, and more terrible deeds he could get up to in the Department of Mysteries. Furthermore, I cannot let the opportunity to expose him pass.” The old wizard drew a shrunken broom out of a pocket and enlarged it. He sounded apologetic. “You can continue your work here safely, since Voldemort and his forces are busy at Hogwarts and the Ministry.” He handed the ferryman’s amulet over to Harry, and flew off.

Suddenly, the island felt far colder, and far more dangerous. Their most powerful protector had just left them.

*****

“All students will be returning at once to their dorms. Prefects, make sure no one is left unaccounted for.” 

McGonagall’s voice, amplified with a Sonorous, cut through the chatter of the Great Hall during the evening meal while Runcorn and the aurors including the Defense Professor left in a hurry. 

“At least they have learned from the troll incident,” Ron Weasley muttered. He looked at Fred, then nodded to the Slytherin table. His brother nodded and poked George. 

“First years, line up with me! Second years, to Lavender!” Ron shouted and started counting the by now quite nervous looking first years while the other prefects called the older years to them. Once he was certain that all of the ickle firsties were present he had them form a column, two abreast, and started to herd them towards the Gryffindor dorm. He really wanted to know what was happening, but he had to make sure the children were safe first. And Ginny of course. His brothers would make sure Malfoy would not use this opportunity to do anything.

*****

Albus Dumbledore flew over the North Sea. He paid the dark, cold waters beneath him no notice, focusing on the upcoming confrontation with Voldemort. As soon as he had passed the wards around the island, he apparated to the cottage he was hiding in, shrunk his broom and grabbed a mirror. “Saul?”

“Yes?” came the response. His friend didn’t appear in the mirror though - a precaution both wizards had agreed upon beforehand and which had proven its use after Albus had become a wanted wizard.

“The visit we were talking about is happening tonight.”

“I understand.”

Nothing more needed to be said; they had made plans for such an event in advance. Stashing the mirror in a pocket in his robe, Albus donned a dark blue robe, far more subdued than his usual attire, with a hood, disillusioned himself and apparated to Diagon Alley.

He had his biggest failure as a teacher to face.

*****

“What’s happening?” Ron asked as soon as the twins entered the dorms.

Both looked grim, far more serious than their usual joking attitude. Had Malfoy…

Fred shook his head before Ron could ask. “Malfoy’s been quite docile, his bodyguard hauled him off to the dungeons with him barely muttering a whining comment about his father.” 

The Slytherins had stepped lightly around the school, after the first round of pranks had sent their entire Quidditch team into the infirmary. Snape had been livid, but there had been no proof at all that it had been the twins - such nasty pranks were not their usual style, after all.

“But there’s a load of red robes in the Castle. Most of the Auror corps seems to be in Hogwarts now - we were almost hexed for being a bit late, if not for McGonagall stepping in,” George added.

“In other news, Gryffindor is down 50 points.” Fred grinned briefly.

“With so many Aurors here, either Voldemort or Dumbledore have to be in the castle. No one else would rate this kind of force.” Ron’s statement was received with gasps and cries from the rest of Gryffindor listening. A few of the younger students started to weep.

“Good going, Ron. Next time, use a privacy spell.” Ginny buried her elbow in his side. As if that would have helped - gossip and rumors traveled faster than a Firebolt in Hogwarts.

Ron ignored the rebuke from his sister. “If we had the bloody map, we could check.” If only there was a safe way to contact Harry and Hermione - but the Ministry controlled the owl post.

“It cannot be Voldemort, the Ministry still won’t accept that he is back,” Fred said. More gasps were the result of him saying the Dark Lord’s name out loud, again.

“But if it’s Dumbledore we should help him!” Ginny exclaimed. “If they catch him…”

“He’s Dumbledore, he won’t get caught. We wouldn’t stand a chance against so many aurors anyway, not even if every Gryffindor came with us.” Fred shook his head.

“But there’s something we can do. We can distract the Aurors. Lure them away. Make them chase shadows.” Ron looked at the twins. “It’s dangerous, but it’ll help Dumbledore.

Fred and George grinned. “Consider it done.”

*****

Roselyn licked her lips when she spotted the ferry moored at Azkaban’s small dock. It had taken her some time to reach the island on her broom, after she had felt the Gith’enre she had left there dying, but she was in luck - her prey was still there. Thanks to the amulet that Death Eater in the DMLE had provided and which Lucius had been so generous to loan her - she chuckled at the memory of that little encounter - she could pass through the wards without problem.

Her eyes were not hampered by the lack of light at all and she easily spotted the guard on the ferry right after she had passed the wards. The undead witch pulled up immediately to gain altitude. Humans or wizards, they rarely ever looked up. 

That wizard - muggleborn, he was not wearing robes - didn’t either, so she could approach him without getting noticed. Five meters above him, she dropped from her broom on him, driving the man headfirst into the wooden planks of the ferry before he knew what had happened. He was dead at once, but his blood was still warm, and after making sure no one else was near or had noticed the attack, she drank greedily.

Sated, the vampiress stood up, wiped her mouth and started towards the prison. With a guard left at the ferry, there were bound to be others inside it. Twirling her wand between her fingers, she smiled. She’d have some fun tonight. More fun than she’d have had at the Ministry.

******* **


	15. Cutting Loose

**Chapter 15: Cutting Loose**

Albus Dumbledore apparated into a side alley in London, near the Ministry of Magic. He was alone. He had told the rest of the Order of the Phoenix to gather and be ready, but hadn’t called them to the Ministry - they might be needed elsewhere, and being seen with him would both incriminate and expose them. It was bad enough that Sirius and Remus were wanted men; he’d not let others share their fate.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, here to battle the Dark Lord Voldemort,” Albus stated after entering the phone booth that hid the street level entrance to the Ministry. He was mildly amused to read ‘Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, delusionally wandering around’ on the badge that was created. It seemed that even the system handling visitors, often a source of accidental insight or humor, had fallen in line with Fudge’s decrees. As the elevator descended, he grew more serious and drew the Elder Wand. Tom would have the Floo connections blocked and Death Eaters guarding the entrances, ready for intruders. He’d discover soon if they were ready for him as well.

Before the elevator reached the lobby of the Ministry, he conjured several slabs of stone, each a foot wide and 6 foot high, and left them floating in front of him. A Shield Charm followed right when the door opened.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A Death Eater had been waiting for the door to open. His Killing Curse was stopped by the first slab of stone though and caused it to explode in a cloud of shards and splinters that harmlessly bounced off Albus’s shield. A flick of the Elder Wand sent one slab right at the caster, and a second at another Death Eater who was about to cast another Killing Curse. Albus almost shook his head - no imagination there, or tactical awareness.

“It’s theUgh!”

“Avada KedAargh!”

Both slabs smashed into their targets with enough power to throw them back several yards.The two wizards came to a stop on the polished stone floor with broken bones and faces. A series of Bone-Breaker Curses crushed their legs and hands, ensuring that neither would be walking or casting until after getting Skele-Gro treatment. Albus still summoned their wands and pocketed them, then stunned them for good measure.

Looking around, the old wizard spotted no other threat, just the corpse of the night guard. Another death on his conscience, he thought, and on Tom’s, as he walked towards the elevator that would transport him to the Department of Mysteries.

*****

Hermione Granger was staring at the coffin they had unearthed with a few vanishing and earthmoving spells she had learned for the occasion. Buried vertically, which she had expected after seeing how small the area allocated to a single grave was, it was made of oak wood and brass, and time had taken its toll on both. After a quick examination, she came to the conclusion that there were no spells or traps on it.

“Alohomora. Wingardium Leviosa.”

The wooden lid lifted slowly off the coffin, trailing dust and dirt, and splinters from the lid itself. Inside the coffin they found a corpse, bent and crooked at its bottom, barely more than skin, hair and bones. Hermione heard Harry make a noise of disgust, but ignored it. This corpse held the key to Harry’s salvation. Another levitation spell had it out of the coffin. After putting on plastic gloves, she pulled the arms corpse, which had been folded over the chest, out. Instead of hands though she was faced with stumps.

“They cut his hands off!” For a moment, frustration and rage threatened to overcome her. She managed to control herself though, and ran her wand over the corpse. If Flenswater had stored his wand in his left hand, then he might have chosen another body part for his grimoire. There still was hope!

“Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!”

She started casting counterspells on every part of the body. The grimoire had to be there! It had to! Then, as she was about to despair, she heard a slurping sound, and a hole opened in the corpse’s chest, right over the heart. She held her breath. Was that… yes! She caught a glimpse of a tome inside, with black and golden covers and spine. Hermione was about to reach inside when Harry grabbed her hand.

“It could be trapped,” he said, cutting off her scathing remark.

Grudgingly, she acknowledged his precaution, and they levitated the grimoire out instead. It looked as if it was in perfect condition - preservation and protection spells, or the effects of the extradimensional body pocket… she really needed to find a better name.

“This is it. The Grimoire of Myrken Flenswater. We did it, Harry, we did it!” The young witch hugged the wizard standing at her side, then smiled at the rest of their friends, on the other side of the floating grimoire. Her expression changed though, the smile vanishing, when she spotted a figure at the gate, behind the group, with a wand pointed at them.

*****

Ron Weasley flinched when he heard another loud explosion. His brothers were, maybe, overdoing it a bit. One of the doors the Room of Requirement had created on his command opened, and the twins ran through, then slammed it close.

“Make it vanish! They are right behind us!” Fred shouted.

Ron did so and heard another, if not as loud, explosion in the castle.

“Whew! That was close.” George let out a relieved sigh. “Those aurors don’t really fool around.”

His twin nodded. “Yes, but they are now convinced Dumbledore is in the dungeons. We’ve trapped a number of rooms there, that should keep them busy for a while.”

“And if we’re lucky they blow up Malfoy by accident,” George added, with a malicious smile.

“Good work you two.” Ron smiled at them. “Now we can prepare the astronomy tower for another distraction.” He turned to a door on his side, and opened it. Behind it lay his own dorm room. “Ginny?”

“Nothing, Ron. Just like when you asked the last few times,” his sister answered, her tone clearly showing that she was not fond of her task in this mission.

Ron didn’t care. He’d die before he’d let Ginny risk herself. “Keep it up, Ginny. We’re counting on you to warn us if aurors or teachers enter so we can get back before they reach our rooms.”

He closed the door before nodding to Fred and George. “One door to the Astronomy Tower, coming up.”

*****

In the elevator Albus conjured a stone statue, shaping it into a crude likeness of a Death Eater wearing a mask and robe, then disillusioned himself and stepped to the side. The doors opened, revealing two Death Eaters to the sides.

“Why are you here? What’s happening upstairs?”

His construct took a few steps inside the hall, unable to answer, and Albus used the opportunity to slip out of the elevator, unseen, and cast two wordless Silencing Charms on them before sending the construct at one of the wizards while banishing the other to the wall. The Death Eater hit the stone with a sickening crack and slid down, leaving a trail of blood on the stone. The other was pelting the construct with weak blasting spells, apparently unable to either finite the charm or casting wordlessly. A Disarming Charm from Albus relieved him of his wand, and the statute proceeded to smash his limbs. Albus was about to do the same to the man he had banished into the wall when the mask slowly slid off and he saw the sightless eyes of Vincent Crabbe’s father staring at him - the impact on the wall had killed the wizard.

Sighing, Albus stunned the other wizard, then proceeded down the hall. Four Death Eaters dealt with, but more were no doubt waiting, and Tom too. And he couldn’t count on them remaining separated into small groups that were easily overcome.

A faint, guilty grin appeared on his face when he realized he didn’t want them to.

*****

“Bombarda Maxima!”

India Cohen had noticed Granger’s reaction and had been turning around already when she heard the whispered incantation and saw a spell flying towards her. And towards Kit! She whirled around again and grabbed Kit, pushing him down and covering him with her own body right before the spell hit and the graveyard exploded. A few splinters hit her, one going into her thigh, others were stopped by her leather jacket and boots, but she didn’t care. Kit mattered more.

Her Watcher was coughing, but reasonably unhurt. She didn’t smell blood from him either. Her instincts urged her to jump up and charge whoever had dared attacking her, and kill them, but instead she pulled Kit up and started to sprint towards the inner doors to the main prison - the closest cover they could reach in the cloud of dust the spell had thrown up.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

She heard the next spell and threw Kit down again. That explosion was a bit further away, and only pebble-sized splinters rained down on them. She heard a cry from the same direction - Fitzburg, probably. So he was still alive. This time she carried more than pushed Kit and they reached the door before she heard the next spell.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

She pushed Kit down again, ignoring his protests, and threw herself at the door, but bounced off. Locked and reinforced by magic, no doubt - it was a prison for wizards, after all. Then the spell hit the door, and she could just shield her face with her arms before she was thrown back by the blast and showered with shreds and shards of wood.

*****

Roselyn smiled when she saw the result of her spells. The courtyard was filled with debris and craters now, two of the prey were down, right when they had thought they had reached the safety of the prison proper. Another was staggering, wounded and barely able to cast. A banishment spell hit him, almost breaking his shield, and threw him back head over heels behind a broken grave marker. And the two children… she spotted them running towards the side, the girl clutching a big tome to her chest. Silly witch!

“Confringo!”

The spell hit the girl and the resulting explosion threw up another cloud of debris and dust, momentarily obscuring them from Roselyn’s view. They wouldn’t be able to get up for a while though, enough time to deal with the last wizard standing, then she could enjoy herself.

That wizard - a muggleborn since he was not wearing robes - was on his knees, one arm dangling uselessly at his side and dripping blood. Her fangs came out at the sight, even before the delicious smell reached her nose. Wizard blood! Her face must have changed too since his eyes widened and he shouted “Vampire witch!” before flicking his wand and casting at her. His aim was off though, the spell was going wide and up - he must be hurt worse than Roselyn had thought, a contemptuous sneer on her face. She wanted a challenge!

Suddenly she was caught by the blinding light of the sun, shining directly down at the courtyard. Screaming, she tried to shield herself, to reach the safety of the next shadow before she burned to ash… she wasn’t burning! It wasn’t the sun, but a spell! The Wizard! Snarling, she jumped to the side, narrowingly dodging a fire whip trying to behead her.

“Good try, wizard, but not good enough!” she taunted, sending a few quick curses at him that forced him to dodge instead of following up with more strikes from the whip. Another small blasting curse at the ground in front of her threw up a cloud of dust that obscured her just enough to let her disillusion herself and start to flank the wizard.

He was good, she had to admit. He had started to move as soon as the cloud went up, and when he couldn’t see her, he only started to run faster. Not fast enough, of course. Not by far. She jumped and sprinted across the graveyard, invisible and unstoppable, coming at him on a roundabout course.

“Homenum Revelio!”

He managed to reveal her despite her flanking him, but she was already too close and too fast for him to cast another spell. Roselyn slammed into him and broke his good arm, causing his wand to drop. She had him now! Grinning, she grabbed his collar and lifted him up, baring her fangs so he could see them - she loved the expression of terror prey had when they realized they were about to be eaten.

The wizard was snarling though, and raised his broken arm towards her in a defiant gesture. No matter, he’d scream when she would feast on him. Then he flicked his wrist, grunting with pain, and a cross appeared in his palm. Hissing, she recoiled, dropping him. That lousy little meal…

The wizard was already trying to grab his wand, with his bleeding arm. He was too slow, and too hurt though, and the cross could not keep her from casting at him, once she had gained some distance and recovered her wits. He screamed, then, when her curse broke his bleeding arm, and again when her next curse blew his right hand and that damned cross up.

And he still did not give up. He even tried to kick her when she stepped closer, his eyes full of hatred. She stomped on his leg, breaking it, then did the same to the other leg, making him scream again. And still his eyes were full of hatred, not fear, when they met hers, right before she sank her fangs into his throat and started to feed.

*****

Albus knew the way to the Hall of Prophecies well. The rotating room, meant to disorient those not familiar with the department, was no obstacle for a wizard who knew the runes etched into the doors and hidden by magic because he had been there when they were created. A touch from his wand opened the correct door, revealing the long hallway with the sealed door at the end - and Tom, surrounded by eight Death Eaters.

Albus pointed the Elder Wand at the floor, and the marble surface started to sprout grasping, battering and crushing arms twice the size of Hagrid’s, forming a wave that rushed towards his enemies. Two robed wizards were struck and dragged down, crushed by the appendages before the others could react. The Dark Lord didn’t hesitate. His spell flattened the area, smashing the arms as well as his two trapped followers, and broke Albus’s spell. The rest fired curses at him, but they were stopped by the now frozen stone arms filling the hallway. Predictable. Not many appreciated the indirect, oblique spells.

“Dumbledore!” Tom shouted, his inhuman face pulled into a grimace of hatred.

“Tom.” Albus nodded at his old foe and former student, then stepped back into the rotating room. A cloud of green acid filled the room, burning his skin for a second before he countered it. Of course Tom was not as limited in his imagination as most of his followers. Albus drenched himself in a neutralizing liquid he had become familiar with in his studies of Alchemy before the acid on his skin could do significant harm to him or his robes. He was still smoking a little when he cast a few tracking charms at the floor and disillusioned himself before opening a door to another hallway - the one leading to the potion division - and cast another spell at the ground there.

He heard Tom order his remaining half a dozen Death Eaters to pursue him. Predictable again.

He had moved further back, towards the door he had come from, when a hail of curses flew through the door to the Hall of Prophecies, harmlessly splashing against the enchanted wall at the back. One robed dark wizard charged inside, shouting and casting wildly even as he threw himself at the floor, rolled and came up again.

When the athletic wizard saw the open door he cried “He fled this way!” and charged right through the door. His scream when he fell through the floor was cut short when Albus canceled the spell he had cast, and stone filled the space again - and the now trapped man’s mouth and lungs. The hands sticking out from the smooth stone floor stopped twitching quickly.

“Fools!” Tom cursed. “Don’t charge ahead like brainless idiots! Work together!”

Five Death Eaters left. And Tom. Albus’s skin was burning, but no worse than a nasty sunburn. He was breathing a bit more heavily - he was not a young wizard anymore, after all - but by no means was he exhausted. Conjuring a few hundred rats and bats, he sent the two swarms inside the rotating room and fell back further towards the elevator. There was no point in wrecking the Department of Mysteries and their experiments if he could drag the fight up into the Ministry’s atrium.

*****

Hermione Granger should be dead. She knew that. But she was hurting too much to be dead. She knew that as well. That first Bombarda Maxima’s blast had hurt her already, if not as much as she had feared - thanks to Harry throwing himself over her. But that Blasting Curse the vampire witch had cast at her, that had hit her dead center. She had seen, had felt it hit and explode. She ran her hands over her chest - all whole. Her head hurt, and her legs were bleeding from multiple wounds, but her chest and face were untouched. How was that possible? Had Harry? Harry!

She rolled over, summoning her wand and looking around. The dust from the explosions was still settling, making it hard to see anything. There he was! She crawled over to him, gritting her teeth when pain shot through her legs. She could deal with pain, no matter how bad, when Harry needed her. He was bleeding from several wounds, but he was breathing, and groaning. She quickly cast Episkey on his wounds, then on hers. It wasn’t a powerful healing spell, but it was enough to deal with small wounds - like those from splinters and shrapnel, provided they didn’t hit anything vital.

But why hadn’t… the book! The grimoire! She spotted the book, on the ground near where she had been. Untouched. Not even dirty. The spell had hit the book, and the protections on it had saved it, and shielded her from most of the blast at the same time! She grabbed it again. It was the reason they had come here, if they lost it all would have been for nothing!

Then she heard a scream, and another. She recognized the voice - Fitzburg! He was hurt! She turned her wand on Harry.

“Ennervate!”

Harry woke up, shaking his head, then hissed in pain. Her spells had not fixed all his wounds. “Hermione?” He looked around, then smiled when he spotted her.

“Harry! Fitzburg’s…” Hermione trailed off when she spotted the Watcher Wizard, held by the leather-clad witch, limbs dangling, twitching… she was …

“Conflagratio!”

Harry was faster than her, and his spell flew at the vampire. She screamed when fire engulfed her, throwing Fitzburg away, but she managed to extinguish the flames with her wand too quickly to burn to ashes.

“Conflagratio! Incendio!” Hermione started to cast as fast as she could. They had to keep the vampire off-balance, reacting and dodging instead of casting.

“Incendio! Confringo!” Harry wasn’t letting up either.

The vampire was too fast though, too agile. She was almost dancing around their spells, laughing now even! And casting at them! Hermione barely managed to dodge a Piercing Curse by rolling behind a grave marker. She cast a shield herself - just in time to absorb the blast from said marker exploding. She rolled a few meters away, hitting her thigh against a fragment of a gravestone and her shoulder against a broken stump of another, but forced herself to get up again.

Harry was still casting, and standing despite his shield getting hit by the vampire’s spell. Blood was running down his face - he had been hit again! Hermione sent a few minor curses at the vampire - of course it was a vampire, anyone else would have frozen to death wearing so little, and Death Eater witches would wear robes, warming charm or no warming charm - in the hope of forcing the vampire to dodge. It did not work, the vampire let the spells hit her shield, laughing - she must have seen through the ruse. Hermione let loose another series of hexes, but this time she cast the strongest Piercing Curse she could manage at the end.

Once again the vampire let the spells hit the shield and it was shattered by her curse. Harry was quick to take advantage of that, hitting their enemy with a Bone-Breaking and another Piercing Curse that sent her reeling. Hermione followed with an Incendio and a Conflagratio, but both were stopped by a shield - that vampire witch was just too fast. And she’d regenerate and recover quickly! For a moment Hermione despaired, then she fought the emotion down. They would destroy the demon, save Fitzburg, and she would save Harry!

She cast another series of hexes, and this time the vampire dodged rather than letting them hit her shield. Hermione smiled, then realized with a sinking feeling that the vampire was far, far faster than before - too fast for either her or Harry. The monster had been toying with them! A spell flew at her, and she turned to dive away right when the ground exploded again, throwing her through the air and into a gravestone.

*****

Albus was waiting at the elevator, disillusioned next to the stairs. Once he saw the door on the other side of the hall was open, he flicked his wand and hit the elevator’s button from outside. Two Death Eaters appeared.

“He’s in the elevator!”

“No, that’s what he wants you to think! He’s waiting for us in ambush!”

Albus smiled. They were learning. But they were still too predictable. Wordlessly, he cast a Confundus Charm at one of them, and a Disillusion Charm at another before retreating upstairs. He still heard someone exclaim: “He’s there!”, followed by a revealing charm and Killing Curses. One, maybe more, down. He stopped after a few stairs, already breathing heavily, and pulled out his shrunk broom to fly the rest of the way up to the atrium.

The elevator was ascending according to the indicator at the door there. Smiling faintly, Albus blew the doors open, then cut the cable and sent a Banishing Charm at the already falling cab. He could hear screaming before the cab hit the ground with such force that the dust it sent up almost reached Albus. He fell back to the statue in the centre of the atrium. Tom wouldn’t be long now.

  
And there he was. The Dark Lord floated out of the elevator shaft in an impressive display of broomless flight, followed by another Death Eater on a broom, and two more flying out from the stairs - the traps he had set there had not stopped those two, alas.

“Hello Tom. And Lucius, Antonin and Augustus I presume.” Only one, the one right at Tom’s side, showed a reaction. That would be Lucius then.

“Dumbledore. You’ve led us through a merry chase, but it ends now!” Tom declared.

Predictable. None of them seemed to have noticed his trap. Not surprisingly - none of them were alchemists, or Potions Masters of Severus’s level. And none of them, used to Tom’s grandstanding and love of drama, would question why Albus suddenly was talking instead of casting.

“I beg to differ, Tom.” Albus smiled, though it was not the gentle smile most knew. It was the smile of the wizard who beaten Grindelwald, the smile of the wizard who had planned and plotted and researched with the greatest Dark Lord Magical Europe had seen to date.

Albus didn’t move his wand - it was already pointing at a spot to the side, which by now the invisible gas he had created would have reached - nor did he say a word. He simply willed the alchemical transfiguration to happen, and it did. The entire area the four dark wizards were standing or floating in vanished in a giant fireball while Albus quickly cast a bubblehead charm and dove into the fountain before the flames reached him.

*****

India Cohen woke up in pain. She was bleeding from half a dozen gashes, more splinters were stuck in her limbs and body, and her head was ringing from what felt like a concussion. But she was alive, and she could move. And… Kit! She was up in an instant, crouching with dagger and stake ready. Kit was on the ground, bleeding, but alive. A quick check showed his heart was beating regularly. But he needed help, healing… where were…

The ground shook from another explosion, and India spotted the Granger witch on the ground, out, and her lover, Potter, casting desperately at the vampire that had attacked them. Had hurt them, had hurt Kit!

India charged straight at the demon, sheathing the dagger and dragging a few throwing spikes. Potter got hit and went down, with his leg broken it seemed. He was still moving, still fighting though. India sent throwing spikes at the demon, only to see them get deflected by the magical shield surrounding the monster. She was about to pounce when the vampire whipped its wand around and pointed it at her. The Slayer dove to the side, a green curse flying harmlessly past her, and then charged ahead again, but the vampire was already moving, as fast as a Master, evading her lunge. India kicked out, but her leg was stopped by the shield as well, even if it drove the demon back and spoiled its aim so a gravestone exploded, and not India.

The Slayer hammered at the shield, trying to break through with sheer willpower and strength. She thought the shield was weakening, but before she could press the attack the vampire cast again, and she had to drop into a split to dodge, and still got clipped on her shoulder. She ignored the pain, as she had been trained to, and whipped out her cross. That drove the vampire back, hissing, and India rammed the cross into the shield, hoping it would break through.

It didn't work though, and the vampire jumped back, then ran to the side, trying to gain enough distance to curse her. Its plans were foiled by a couple of spells flying at the monster, blowing up the ground in front of it and shattering its shield. India jumped and ran at it, sending her last throwing spikes at the demon, and saw them sink into its shoulder and side, smoke rising from where the blessed silver touched the undead flesh. It didn't slow the vampire down that much though, and before India reached the vampire it had its wand up and cast a shield again.

Slamming into the shield at full speed felt like slamming into a wall. A wall that was moved back, and down, but a wall nonetheless. India was dazed for a moment, and barely recovered in time to jump over the vampire and evade another killing curse. She kicked out, pushing herself away and the vampire down, but the shield held. What was Potter doing?

A quick glance caught him casting at Granger, and India snarled. She needed help right now, or they were dead - all of them! The Slayer kicked dust and debris at the vampire, more out of reflex than in any hope of the monster covering its eyes in response. It didn’t, trusting its shield. Another kick drove it a meter back - and probably caused some hairline fractures in her foot. She could deal with that. Her boots were reinforced, and tied tight.

“Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!”

“Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!”

Suddenly spells were flying thick around them. For a moment India was afraid the two were simply casting without regard for herself, then she realized those were spells to cancel spells. Like a shield spell!

The demon realized it too, judging by its curses. India smiled. Three on one, and one of the three was a Slayer. The fight was as good as over! The vampire was fast, and skilled, and powerful. But not fast enough to dodge the spells, not with India wailing on her, pushing her around, hampering its movements and foiling its aim whenever it tried to cast at Potter and Granger.

The monster switched tactics, sending curses at India now, frantically. But its Killing Curses were too slow to hit a Slayer that had smelled blood. It switched to quick curses, faster but weaker. A few hit India, leaving her bruised and bleeding - but not beaten, not even close.

The vampire switched tactics again, dropping its shield, and lunging for her. It was a desperate gamble, hoping it could beat India in melee. The Slayer caught her wand arm, holding it away. She received a punch that sent her head ringing again in response, definitely a concussion, but that was not enough either. The vampire witch might be an experienced witch and master vampire, but India was the Slayer - and experienced too. She had been chosen to hunt and kill monsters like this demon.

A kick shattered the monster’s kneecap, then India’s knee rammed into its stomach, folding it over. A twist of her wrist disarmed the demon, and then her stake found its heart. It was staring at India, probably trying to say something, but disintegrated into dust before it managed to get a word out.

*****

“Hurry up!” Ron Weasley called from the door that had appeared on top of the tower. “An Auror could appear any time!”

“Don’t rush us, Ronnikins! We’ll have to modify one of our fireworks to look like a broom rider making his escape. That’s not a simple jinx.”

“It won’t be a simple detention if you get caught either!”

“Yes, yes. We knew the risks when we agreed to do it.”

“Mum will not be pleased either if you get caught.”

That at least shut them up. After another minute that felt like an hour to Ron, his elder brothers at last finished, and joined him in the Room of Requirement. “All done, little brother. As soon as anyone reaches the top, the firework goes off, and they’ll think Dumbledore has left the castle.”

“Good. They’ll leave, and Dumbledore can do whatever he came to do here, without having to worry about getting attacked.” Ron smiled. They had done good here - fooling most of the British Auror Corps was an achievement not many could boast of. He was smiling broadly when he returned to the Gryffindor dorm. He was not with his two best friends, but he was still doing his part to help them.

*****

Albus Dumbledore was about to get up and out of the water, which was now far hotter than before, with probably half of it evaporated by the effects of his alchemical surprise, when the entire fountain shattered and blew up. The old wizard was thrown in the air, and only a hastily cast Cushioning Charm prevented further injuries. Even so he felt a few ribs breaking, and he was bleeding from several wounds. His left leg seemed to be broken too. He numbed his ribs and transfigured his left trouser leg into a cast.

"Dumbledore!"

Tom's voice came out of the smoke that filled the atrium. It was full of hatred and anger. Albus grinded his teeth - Tom had survived one of his best shots, and had hurt him badly in return. He conjured stone slabs to absorb the unforgivables while the dust and smoke started to settle. The atrium was in ruins, the fire had filled it, and then rushed into the other areas accessible from here, setting them alight. The charms keeping the air fresh would be straining, and probably failing soon.

Tom walked out of the smoke, his robes tattered and splattered with green blood, but otherwise not looking hurt - or not inconvenienced by what wounds he might have taken. Three charred corpses showed that his followers had not fared as well though.

"Impressive work on your body, Tom," Albus stated.

Tom didn't answer but jumped to the side, sending a Killing Curse at him. He no doubt expected another trap should he stop to talk. Like Gellert, Albus thought. And yet, so unlike Gellert. The old wizard was not able to dodge, but his stone slab swallowed the Killing Curse, and his shield dealt with the resulting explosion. Tom wouldn't try the same thing twice.

Neither would Albus, and he had a greater repertoire of spells left than Tom - but most of them Tom would be familiar with, and therefore would know how to counter. Most, but not all. Gellert and Albus had created spells neither had shared with anyone, after all. But to use them… Albus smiled. What better time to use those than when duelling the greatest Dark Lord Britain had seen in centuries?

The remains of the shattered statues started to flow and change, forming serpentine shapes. Tom had opted for the indirect attack then, too - or wanted him to think so. Albus cast a wind spell, just in case Tom had poisoned what air was left - his Bubblehead Charm would not help against poison that worked through skin contact - and then pointed his wand at the serpents reaching for him.

"Gravitas."

At once the serpents fell down, pressed into the marble floor as if a great invisible weight had been dropped on them. Soon they shattered. Another flick hid Albus in a dark cloud that started to spread out, dark lightning crackling through it. Where it touched the walls and floor, spells and charms started failing. Albus was curious how Tom's body would react to its magic getting syphoned off.

He would not find out - Tom cast a truly impressive whirlwind spell that broke his cloud up. Albus canceled the spell before the absorbed magic was released in an explosion. He didn't want to destroy the Ministry, after all. Then he had to duck and shield himself while stone spears dripping with acid shot at him from all sides. His shield held, but the impacts threw him around. Then the stone floor rose up as if it was a big wave, about to crash down on him. Tom must have been inspired by natural disasters.

Albus froze the wave before it reached him, then turned it into so fine parts it looked like sand. Another spell mixed the stone sand with water and shot it out in thin, but high-pressure streams that cut through stone almost as easily as through flesh.

Tom shielded himself with thick marble walls, then cast a few Bombarda Maximas to break up the streams. The resulting explosions threw both wizards around. Albus felt another rib break, making breathing even more difficult. He was close to exhausted now - unlike Tom, his body was not a magical construct, or improved with dark rituals. If he wanted to prevail he'd have to resort to some of the more questionable spells he and Gellert had created.

"Abundo!"

The air started to feel heavier, darker even - what light the fires burning in the other rooms had created started to dim. And the darkness started to gather around Tom, who was looking around, first in confusion, then in something akin to wonder and fear.

"Dumbledore… what have you done?"

Tom shot a Killing Curse at Albus, followed by a Torture Curse. Another Killing Curse, and another, and another. Albus managed to conjure enough stone slabs to shield himself, but it was getting more and more difficult - though Tom wasn't really aiming anymore, he was just casting as fast as possible, probably having realized what was happening, and trying to counter it. He wouldn't be able to.

"Dumbledore!" Judging by the hatred in his voice, he had realized that too. "Curse you! You hypocrite!" Then Albus felt the anti-apparition jinx on the Ministry break, and before he could cast one himself, Tom disappeared with a crack.

He cancelled his spell, and the room grew lighter again. Sighing, Albus looked around, noticing a few Aurors staring at him. That explained the canceled anti-apparition jinxes. "Saved by aurors. How ironic, Tom."

None of wizards even tried to say anything, much less arrest him while Albus checked on the two Death Eaters he had left broken and stunned in the atrium. Neither had survived the fight between him and Tom.

"There should be a surviving Death Eater or two in the Department of Mysteries. See to it that they are arrested and interrogated, will you?" One of the Aurors started to nod, then checked himself. Smiling, gently this time, Albus apparated away.

*****


	16. Aftermath

**Chapter 16: Aftermath**

Hermione Granger stared at the spot where the vampire witch had died - had been destroyed - for a second or two, before she turned and started to look for the grimoire they had come for. Every step she took hurt. The young witch was sure some of her ribs, and probably her shoulder as well, were broken from her impact on that gravestone, and a numbing spell could only do that much about the pain. But she needed that book! Harry needed the spell that she was sure was written down in it. With each moment she didn’t saw it she felt more and more anxious. If the tome’s protections had failed, if it had been destroyed in the battle… finally she discovered it behind a broken tombstone, half-buried by rubble. She summoned it with her wand, then cried out when the thick, heavy book slammed into her chest after she failed to catch it with one hand. “Ah!”

Hissing in pain she sank to her knees, suffering until she managed to numb her shoulder once more with the grimoire jammed under her good arm.

“Hermione!”

Harry was headed towards her. He didn’t look any better - he looked worse, actually, bruised and bleeding all over, his clothes ripped in multiple places - but he moved more quickly than herself.

He was probably used to such wounds from Quidditch, she thought, and snorted, then winced again when more pain shot through her. She definitely had some broken ribs. She tried to wave Harry off anyway. “I am OK. Check on Fitzburg. He needs help.”

The way Harry’s expression changed told her all she needed to know. She closed her eyes, feeling ashamed that she had been focusing on recovering the grimoire, instead of helping the Watcher.

“He’s dead.” Harry had reached her, and was running his wand over her. “And you need help.”

“So do you,” Hermione responded. “Don’t say you are fine!” she spat out before he could say it. She was grateful for his help in standing up though. “What about Kit?” She closed her eyes, trying to find her balance.

“India has gone for him,” Harry answered. “There she is, with him.” He pointed to his right.

Hermione glanced over and saw Botwell getting carried by India. Unconscious, but the Slayer didn’t look distressed or in panic, so her Watcher was probably fine. Sort of. She turned back to where Fitzburg was lying on the ground. “We’ll have to … ngh … make sure he doesn’t get turned.” That was a Watcher’s worst nightmare: To return as a vampire and attack one’s family and friends.

Harry nodded and steadied her as they made their way over to the body. The wizard’s throat was torn out, his eyes were open, sightless, his limbs were twisted and bent like those of a broken puppet, and there was so much blood around... Hermione tried to cast a diagnostic spell anyway, but fumbled around, the grimoire under her wand arm hindering her. The grimoire she had gone for, instead of the dead young man at her feet. Harry didn’t say anything and let her cast no matter how awkward she must have looked. The spell only told her what she had already known: Fitzburg was dead, bled out, with multiple broken bones and internal injuries.

It was Harry who transfigured the body into a small box though - like a miniature coffin - and stashed it in a pocket of his jacket that had not been ripped open during the fight. “Wilkinson was at the ferry.”

“He must have heard the explosions.” And there was only one reason why he wouldn’t have come to help them. Hermione didn’t want to say it though.

“He must be dead,” India cut in, carrying her watcher bridal style. Under different circumstances it would have been a funny sight. Now Hermione simply felt exhausted, sad, and both happy and guilty that Harry had survived. And herself.

Harry nodded, and ran a diagnostic spell on Botwell. “Concussion, some bruises, cracked ribs. He’ll be fine.”

India nodded and smiled down at the unconscious Watcher held in her arms, then planted a kiss on his forehead. At least those two had survived as well, Hermione thought, then felt guilty again since she didn’t even know if Fitzburg had had a girlfriend. Or a family.

They reached the ferry and found Wilkinson’s body on it. India gently laid Botwell down on a bench, then checked on the dead Watcher while Harry checked the ferry’s state. “The vampire must have surprised him. He probably was killed before he even noticed her, then she drank his blood,” the Slayer stated.

It was a small consolation, the sort of people get told in war movies. But Hermione, sitting down on a bench herself, still clutching the grimoire while the ferry started on the trip back to Britain, would take what consolation she could get after this battle.

*****

Tonks shook her head, standing up from where she had knelt next to another Death Eater on the ground. “This one’s dead too. Shattered skull. What brains the guy had must have been shredded from the splinters.” Not that he would have lived long with his chest smashed like this.

Brakborst, the senior Auror in charge of this area, turned towards her. “Do you recognize him?” He didn’t sound as if he had expected anything else.

Neither had Tonks. Not after what she had seen in the atrium. She still couldn’t really believe it. Of course, she, and everyone else, had called Dumbledore the most powerful wizard in Britain for all their lives, but they hadn’t really believed it. Now though, after having seen him fighting, for real, and seeing the remains of his work… she shivered as she crouched down again and pulled the mask away from the head of the corpse. “Ugh. His face is smashed too. I am not certain even his mother could recognize him now.”

Brakborst snorted. “I think a number of families would be only too glad if the bodies here would never get identified. It would be too embarrassing to have a family member who was killed as a Death Eater.”

“Not as embarrassing as finding out that the Dark Lord is back, after claiming it’s all a lie for months.” Tonks stood up again, almost losing her balance. She managed to avoid stumbling, or even falling down. Her metamorphmagus talent was both a blessing and a curse. “So… that’s one surviving Death Eater, so far?”

“Yes. His limbs were crushed, but he’s otherwise well. I do not think we’ll find any more alive.” Brakborst looked to the sealed door leading to the Hall of Prophecies. “It doesn’t look like they managed to get through the door, and we’ve cleared the rest of the rooms.”

The rooms the Unspeakables let them check, at least. Tonks briefly imagined the hooded wizards hiding another survivor, to use him for their experiments, then dismissed the thought as the kind of stories new Aurors were told to haze them. Then she grinned at the idea. That would make an excellent story, actually, to feed to the first junior Auror she’d get to train. Once she wasn’t a junior Auror herself anymore. Her grin faded again.

She returned to the atrium, to report to Madam Bones. The head of the DMLE was standing next to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and looked livid. Tonks pasted her best ‘mere peon, don’t mind me’ expression on her face and stepped close enough to listen in - purely so she’d be able to report to Bones as soon as she could so without interrupting the witch’s talk with the Minister, of course! And what a talk it was!

“Are you out of your mind, Cornelius? Are you honestly claiming that Dumbledore staged all of this, to make you believe that the Dark Lord has returned? That he put a dozen men under the Imperius so he could dress them up as Death Eaters and then murder them? And that he found a ringer for the Dark Lord, powerful enough to do all this…” she waved to the destroyed atrium, parts of it still smoking.

“Well… yes?” Fudge was cringing under the woman’s glare, but he didn’t give in. “We now know how powerful he is. Powerful enough to do all of this.”

“And why would he do this?” Tonks’s boss looked like she really wanted to hex Fudge into a puddle and pour him down a toilet.

“To convince us of his lies, of course! So he can become Minister for Magic!” Fudge raised his chin in a show of defiance.

“You are a delusional fool, Cornelius! If Dumbledore is powerful enough to do all this, why would he even bother with such a ruse? If he is willing to murder a dozen ‘fine, upstanding citizens’ to fool you, why are you still alive? Why wouldn’t he have simply killed you during the summer, and blamed it on the Dark Lord? If this evening has shown us one thing, then that neither your security detail nor my rapid reaction teams could have stopped him. No, this is not something Dumbledore staged. The Unspeakables told us so as well.” Bones sneered at the Minister.

“Lucius said...”

“Malfoy’s corpse lies over there, wearing Death Eater robes!” Bones pointed at a body covered with a conjured sheet in a corner. “Together with Antonin Dolohov and Augustus Rookwood, two Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban. Are you claiming that Dumbledore freed them, just to convince you that the Dark Lord is back? What is next, you claiming Dumbledore is the Dark Lord?”

Fudge shook his head and seemed to collapse in himself. “No…”

He looked so pathetic, Tonks would have felt pity for him, if she didn’t know what damage his foolish and corrupt policies had done to Wizarding Britain. As it was she could barely keep from grinning widely and openly mocking him.

“Do you honestly think your claims will be believed anymore? Do you think that the parasites at the Prophet will dare besmirching Dumbledore any longer, now that he drove the Dark Lord away and killed a dozen Death Eaters, all by himself?” Bones scoffed.

“No…”

“You’re finished, Cornelius. If you want to keep a shred of dignity, you’ll resign as soon as possible, and let someone else clean this mess up.” With that dismissal, the head of the DMLE turned her attention on Tonks, who straightened at once.

“Madam, we found one Death Eater alive, Thadesius Nott. He has been arrested and transferred under guard to St. Mungo’s. All the others are dead. Identifying all of them will take a while though.” Especially the one whose hand sticking out of the floor was the only visible part left.

“Good. Double the guard for Nott and make sure four Aurors are with him at all times. We need him alive for questioning, and I assume there will be a few more moles we haven’t found yet.” Bones nodded at Tonks and turned away, towards a figure dressed in the hooded robes of an Unspeakable. The young Auror had no intention to listen in to that conversation, no matter how tempting it was, and left to transmit the orders. She didn’t think she’d get any sleep tonight, but she didn’t mind.

As she stepped towards the Floo connection she wondered if the Death Eater witch who had hurt her in Diagon Alley so badly months ago was among the dead.

*****

Quentin Travers was listening to the report from Watcher Botwell, the Slayer, Hermione and Mister Potter without letting his reaction show on his face. The four survivors of the expedition to Azkaban had been treated with potions and spells, though the Council’s resources in that area were still far short of those offered at a magical clinic such as St. Mungo’s. Losing two of the rare wizards the Council had at its disposal wouldn’t help with that, he knew. There was no point in making that known to the four battered and bruised young people in front of him though. Besides, not even Dumbledore, who was sitting next to the four, had been able to do that much about their wounds.

He nodded when Mister Potter finished describing how they had taken the ferry back to the mainland, and how the Headmaster had caught up with them when they had made landfall. “We were, sadly, in no shape to use the brooms from Wilkinson and Fitzburg, or we would have returned more quickly.”

Quentin’s grandniece mumbled something he did not catch. “Yes, Hermione?”

Startled, the girl looked at him. “I just told myself to refresh my broom flying skills.” From the way Mister Potter snorted and Dumbledore faintly smiled, and judging by what Quentin knew about his grandniece’s grades, she might need a bit more than a refresher course in that area. He didn’t comment on it though, and merely nodded.

He felt like sighing, but suppressed it. After surviving such a brutal fight against one of the worst enemies there was, a turned witch, anything that sounded like disappointment from him would damage their morale. Besides, it was Botwell’s job to debrief his Slayer, and Quentin’s to debrief Botwell - in private.

So he nodded instead of sighing. “While the loss of Wilkinson and Fitzburg is tragic, you did achieve your objective, and you defeated a truly monstrous enemy. I do not think there was much you could have done differently. Wilkinson couldn’t be saved no matter what you did, and you could have easily lost more than just Fitzburg, given what attacked you.” He met everyone’s eyes before continuing. “Both of them will be remembered, but we have to look forward now.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore spoke up. Quentin had been surprised that the old wizard had remained silent so far. Either he was very polite or exhausted from his fight, or both. He was addressing the four others. “I am truly sorry that I left you there. I would never have done so had I known you would be in danger.”

“But if you had not done so, Voldemort would not have been exposed in the Department of Mysteries and wouldn’t have lost a dozen of his most trusted followers. As it is, the Ministry might finally drop the charges against you and Sirius and Remus, and help against Voldemort, who is severely weakened,” Hermione pointed out.

Once again Quentin felt she was truly a chip of the old block, seeing the big picture. He could see her leading the Council, one day. If she survived that long. He smiled at his grandniece. “That is correct. Overall, our chances to finally destroy Voldemort for good have been greatly increased today. Now, please rest and recover.” He looked at Hermione and added: “I know you want to start researching the spell you sought at once, but it will do you no good to do so while you are exhausted and hurting. We cannot afford mistakes there.”

Whatever Hermione had been about to say in protest was swallowed when Mister Potter grabbed and gently squeezed her hand. Quentin faintly grinned at that, and exchanged an amused glance with Dumbledore. “That goes for all of you. Go to bed, and sleep in tomorrow.”

Once the four young people had filed out of his office, Quentin turned to Dumbledore. “How do you suppose the Ministry will react to what has happened?”

“I will have to check with a few sources of mine, but I expect a drastic change of policy.” The old wizard smiled cynically. “It doesn’t even matter if they truly believe that Voldemort has returned. With Lucius Malfoy dead and the Dark Lord fled, the Ministry is very unlikely to oppose me now.”

Quentin nodded. While he was no expert on Wizarding Britain’s politics, it fit with what he knew. “A fortunate outcome. What do you think the Dark Lord will do?”

“That is hard to say. I will have to wait for more information from my sources. He will have to recover from our battle, but apart from that?” Dumbledore spread his hands. “He has been acting a bit erratically for years, even before his first defeat. He might go into hiding, or lash out in an attempt to rebuild his damaged reputation as the most feared wizard in Britain.”

“Will he be attempting to fight you again then?”

“That would be the ideal outcome, as far as I am considered. But I fear he might pick another target to sow terror in the hearts of Wizarding Britain once more.”

Quentin nodded. “I see. We can only hope we’ll be ready to end his immortality soon then.”

“I would help your grandniece, but I am needed elsewhere for now. I trust Hermione will succeed without my help though. She’s the brightest witch of her generation, and since Harry needs her to, she will succeed.” Dumbledore smiled, but didn’t hide that he too was tired, maybe exhausted even, as he got up.

Quentin didn’t mind that. The old wizard would likely have to prepare his Order to counter Voldemort’s expected reaction. If the Dark Lord was targeting wizards and not normal humans, then the Council could let Dumbledore and his order deal with such attacks, until they were ready to destroy the Dark Lord for good.

*****

At Hogwarts, the rumors of a Battle in the Ministry spread like wildfire during breakfast. Even more so when the expected Daily Prophets did not arrive - either the newspaper was delayed so it could report on what had happened last night, or the Ministry had confiscated it, to avoid such reporting. Either way, most students took it as confirmation of the rumors. Especially since most of those rumors had been started by the aurors relieving the night shift. Ron Weasley had started a few himself, after he had gotten an owl from Harry and Hermione. Their letter had told him what had happened.

“And in these troubling times, it is imperative that the school remains calm and orderly. Do not spread baseless rumors or otherwise try to frighten fellow students.”

Albert Runcorn, who still hadn’t been able to enter the office of the Headmaster, was talking. No one was really listening, but that was not much of a consolation for Ron. The Gryffindor had thought he was helping Dumbledore in Hogwarts, but if the Headmaster had been fighting Voldemort in the Ministry last night, then he couldn’t have been in Hogwarts. Ron felt foolish, and he hated feeling foolish. Not even telling himself that he had kept the Aurors from returning to the Ministry and hindering Dumbledore helped much. He had to do something!

“Anyone who spreads such rumors in an attempt to cause unrest will be punished most severely. We cannot afford to…”

“Shut up!”

Ron’s amplified voice cut Runcorn off. The fake Headmaster looked shocked at the interruption.

“Shut up, you liar!” Ron climbed up on the table. “I know what happened! We all know what happened!” The students, who had been discussing and spreading rumors while Runcorn had talked, had fallen silent. “Dumbledore has fought the Dark Lord in the Ministry! He has personally killed a dozen Death Eaters and drove Voldemort away!”

Most of the students and even some Aurors loudly gasped when Ron said the Dark Lord’s name. He ignored it and went on: “Dumbledore has not just proven that he was right about the Dark Lord’s return, but also that he is more powerful than the Dark Lord! How much longer do you think Fudge will be in power? How much longer do you think you’ll be here, acting as if you were the Headmaster, trying to punish us for believing in him instead of your pathetic lies?”

Runcorn was gaping at that question and lost all color in his face. Around Ron, the other Gryffindors loudly voiced their agreement.

“You’re the liar! My father knows the truth!” Malfoy shouted from the Slytherin table.

Ron turned towards him. “Your father is dead. He was killed while he fought for Voldemort!”

The Slytherin looked shocked. “That’s a lie! You are lying!”

“Shut up, rapist, before we shut you up!”

That shout had come from Lavender Brown, and was quickly taken up by the rest of the Gryffindor table.

When it spread to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, McGonagall stepped in. “Lessons are cancelled for today. Return to your common rooms. Anyone I catch trying to start a fight will regret it. The Headmaster wouldn’t want you to start a riot here.” It was clear what Headmaster she was speaking of, but even so the students seemed to be too riled up, too fed up with all the lies to calm down easily.

She was right though, Ron knew. So he bowed to the Deputy Headmistress and started to walk to the Gryffindor tower while Malfoy, crying and shaking his head, was dragged out by his Auror bodyguard. That calmed the students down.

Ron had barely left the Great Hall though when he was hugged by a squealing Lavender. “That was so great! You showed them!”

“You showed them as well,” Ron answered, hefting her up in a hug, which turned in a kiss. He might have not helped Dumbledore much last night, but he was rather sure he had made up for that today.

And they had gotten the day off even!

*****

In the Council’s library, Harry Potter started to get up, to go over to his girlfriend and tell her to take a break, but a glare from her and a tap on her watch stopped him, and he sat down again, grumbling about stubborn witches. Even after treatment with magical ointment, Hermione looked like she had served as a practise target for beaters with bludgers. Under her sweater and trousers too. He knew that since he had treated her. He grinned at the memory - he hadn’t expected her to agree when he had told her that she could treat him with that ointment only if he could treat her in return. But she had, and that had been one good thing to come of that bloody battle.

His grin died quickly though when he remembered that Hermione had to be in a lot of pain, even with the potion she had taken. He knew that from personal experience after Quidditch matches. And yet she would not rest some more, not even while Skele-Gro was working on the arm she had in a sling. She was so determined, she hadn’t agreed to his offer of him resting while she rested. The most he had managed to get her to agree to was to take regular breaks. Breaks she would take according to her schedule, and not a minute earlier.

Sighing, he pulled up a book on demons and their weak spots, and tried to study instead of watching his wounded, hurting girlfriend scribble down notes as if she was cramming for her exams. No, worse! As if she was studying for her O.W.L.s. Of course, Harry was in pain himself, but he was used to that. Years of playing Quidditch with a madman like Wood in charge and against a team of thugs like Slytherin’s had seen to that. He knew better than to mention that to Hermione though.

She was nibbling on her lower lip. He knew she’d twist her hair with her left hand, if her arm was not currently in a sling. Merlin, she was pretty when she was all focused like this! She must have heard him sigh, since she suddenly looked up at scowled at him. She was probably thinking he was trying to distract her. He simply smiled at her, shaking his head slightly. Hermione looked puzzled for a moment, then blushed a bit, and went back to studying the grimoire of Myrken Flenswater.

*****

“There you are, Severus. What did delay you?” The Dark Lord’s voice sounded curious, almost harmless - but there was a tension in the air. Severus Snape had expected that, after he had heard from Dumbledore what had happened.

The Dark Lord’s hideout had seen better days. Or rather, he had had better hideouts. This one Severus didn’t recognize, unfortunately - Dumbledore wanted the location of the Dark Lord. The room he had just entered couldn’t compare to the hall in Malfoy Manor. It was barely a quarter its size, and that was with expansion charms applied to it. And it was filled with broken furniture, ripped curtains, and rubble from blasted walls. All of it looked rather fresh. Severus fervently hoped that all this destruction had allowed the Dark Lord to calm down.

“I had to bide my time to escape unduly notice at Hogwarts, milord. The Aurors and teachers were restless, after rumors of the events at the Ministry had reached the school.” He bowed deeply to the inhuman figure sitting on a conjured throne in the middle of the room. 

“Really? Do you think I am as foolish to believe a spy like you, who had fooled Dumbledore for so long, would be delayed by a few foolish teachers and bumbling Aaurors?” The Dark Lord’s voice was now dripping with contempt. “That is, if you actually had fooled Dumbledore at all.”

A shiver ran down Severus’s spine. “Milord, I was and remain your loyal follower.” He bowed again, pressing his forehead into the dusty stone floor.

The Dark Lord spoke. “So you claim. But it was your information that Dumbledore would be absent that led me into his trap. Just like it was your information about the prophecy that led to my defeat at the hands of a child those years ago. Twice this prophecy has cost me a lot, and twice you were involved. Is that mere coincidence?”

Severus stiffened. In both cases he had not intended for the Dark Lord to walk into a trap, but would the wizard believe him? “I have only told you what I knew and believed to be true, milord.”

“So you claim.” The Dark Lord’s voice didn’t sound as if it came from a human throat. Alien. “Look at me, Severus, so I might test your loyalty.”

Severus briefly closed his eyes while cold sweat ran down his neck. Could he risk it? He was an expert occlumens. He might have a chance to fool the Dark Lord, but only if the dark wizard was taking care not to ruin the Potions Master’s mind. Severus had no illusions what would happen if the Dark Lord did not hold back.

The room was in ruins. No one else was present. The Dark Lord had suffered a terrible blow, to his pride, and to his organization. Would he be rational enough not to risk losing another capable follower, or would he be paranoid enough to consider that an acceptable price to pay to be secure from treason?

“Look at me, Severus!” The Dark Lord was impatient now. No, he was enjoying this.

The Potions Master slowly raised his head, his hand on his mouth, and met the Dark Lord’s eyes. When he felt as if red-hot iron spikes were driven through his head, he bit on the stone he had placed in his mouth, crushing it.

Severus Snape died seconds later from the poison the stone had contained.

*****

Hermione Granger took a deep breath, and checked the preparations once more. If she made a mistake here, Harry would… She shook her head. She would not make a mistake. Everything was where it should be. The runic circle on the floor, the candles at the edges, the bowl with ashes of a phoenix, the globe containing the last breath of a Kneazle, and the herbs from the Mist Enclave in the Everglades. She ran a soft cloth dripping with holy water along the blade of the sacrificial dagger on the table. Everything was ready for the ritual to restore Voldemort’s soul. To render him mortal again. To rip that foul soul shard out of Harry’s scar.

The young witch glanced at Harry, who was sitting in the middle of the runic circle, clad only in a thin, hand-crafted robe. He smiled at her, but she saw he was tense. Nervous, and with good cause. He was trusting her with his life, his very soul. And Hermione wasn’t sure she deserved this kind of trust. She was just a know-it-all, a bookworm. If she deserved his trust, wouldn’t she have saved Fitzburg in Azkaban? Wouldn’t she have been able to defeat that Vampire witch?

“Hermione.” Harry’s voice interrupted her before she could work herself into a frenzy. “I trust you.” And, seeing him smile at her, she realized he did.

Taking another deep breath, she checked her watch. It was time. She closed her eyes, then dropped her outer robe to the floor. Wearing only a thin, short robe just like Harry’s, but with inverted symbols and colors, she lit the candles, carefully, without magic. Once all were burning, she lit the incense in the small bowls surrounding the circle, then sat down in front of Harry. Murmuring the first part of the ritual spell, she set the bowl with the phoenix ashes down between her and Harry, then placed the globe and herbs in it. When she finished the first part of the spell, the bowl’s content ignited. As it should according to her notes.

Breathing deeply, smelling the incense, she took the dagger and opened a cut on the palm of her left hand. Blood dripped down from it, into the bowl filled with fire. She started on the second part of the spell, murmuring syllables of a language man had forgotten long ago. When she finished, the bowl went out again, and all that was left inside was a thick liquid - her blood, mingled with the essence of the ingredients for the ritual.

She started the third part of the spell as she dipped her finger into the bowl, her voice never wavering as she covered Harry’s scar with it. She was utterly calm now. As her voice rose, the last parts of the spell spoken, she took up the dagger again, placed its tip against the top end of Harry’s scar, then slowly pushed it in and ran it down the length of the scar. Blood, darker than natural, welled up from the cut and met the blood she had spread on the scar with a sizzling noise.

Harry hissed, but didn’t flinch. Not until she withdrew the blade, and finished the spell. Then he screamed, and threw his head back while a whirlwind suddenly surrounded the circle, extinguishing the candles at once. Only the glowing runes of the circle provided light now. Black blood shot out of the boy’s scar, disappearing before it reached the floor. Hermione heard another scream, inhuman and louder than Harry’s, and dark, twisted smoke rose from her boyfriend’s scar, drawing the black blood with it, upwards, away from Harry, away from her. It vanished before it reached the ceiling, and Harry toppled over, unconscious.

*****

The Dark Lord Voldemort was shaking, panting. For an hour he had suffered, felt as if his soul was being torn apart. But now it was over. He had survived. Whoever had attacked him with such a dark ritual had failed!

He wondered who was behind this cowardly attack. It had to be Dumbledore! He was the only one who had the power and knowledge to strike from afar at him. The old wizard must have been hurt worse than Voldemort had thought in their duel, if he had to stoop so low. First that dark spell during their duel, and now this dark ritual.

But Voldemort had prevailed! And he felt better than ever, even more powerful than before!

Standing up, cleaning and smoothing his robes with wandless magic, the Dark Lord started to pace. Dumbledore would know he had failed. Even with his new power, the Dark Lord might not survive another attempt. There was no choice - he had to deal with Dumbledore before his enemy could try again!

Dumbledore would be weakened though, such rituals had a price, and would not be eager to face the Dark Lord until he had recovered. Voldemort would need to draw him out, to force him to meet him while he was still weak. But how… Suddenly, the Dark Lord knew the solution. There was only one thing the old wizard would give his life for.

Striding out of the room, The Dark Lord bellowed for his followers - the remaining Death Eaters, the werewolves, the vampires, the demons and the Dementors.

He had a school to conquer.

*****


	17. Invasion

**Chapter 17: Invasion**

When Harry Potter woke up he experienced the familiar slightly blurred view of the world without his glasses. His arm reached out to their customary spot next to his bed but he found nothing there. Not even the sideboard. What? Then he remembered the ritual. The scar bleeding, the inhuman scream, and his own collapse. Looking around he realized that he had to be in some sort of infirmary. He was not wearing his wrist wand holster either. What had happened?

“He’s awake, Mister Dumbledore.”

That was Mister Travers’s voice!

“So he is. Hello Harry.” The Headmaster’s voice sounded as kind as usual, if a bit wearier.

“Headmaster?” Harry squinted at him. A second later his glasses floated before his face. He put them on with some relief, then looked around for his wand.

“Your wand is with Miss Granger. We wanted to be sure you’re not suffering from any lingering effect that might unduly influence you,” the Headmaster explained.

“Hermione? Where is she? Is she OK?” Harry knew his girlfriend was very unlikely to stay away from his side when he was hurt, unless something had happened.

“She is resting. The ritual exhausted her, but she’s otherwise well.” The old wizard smiled reassuringly.

Behind him Mister Travers appeared. “She wanted to stay at your side, but I managed to convince her that she’d wake up before you’d do, and that you’d want her to rest in a bed, not on a chair.” He faintly smiled, but made it clear that Harry would better agree with that stance.

The young wizard nodded. Hermione had a tendency to not think of herself when it came to helping her friends. He knew that better than anyone else. “Thank you, sir.”

“Think nothing of it, Mister Potter. I know my family’s foibles.”

Harry nodded, then reached up to touch his scar. He could not feel any difference. Dumbledore waved his wand, and a mirror appeared in front of him. His scar had scabbed over, but the skin around it was still red, if not quite as much as before.

“It’s gone, Harry. The ritual worked.”

Harry stared at the mirror, then at the Headmaster, who nodded gravely. He still couldn’t truly believe it.

Then Mister Travers nodded as well. “We’ve ran several tests. The soul fragment in your scar is gone.”

Harry believed it, then - he had no doubt that Mister Travers, for all that he was Hermione’s great-uncle, would not lie to him should he still represent a danger, or be an unwilling tool of Voldemort.

“Good.” He closed his eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the knowledge that he’d not have to die so Voldemort could be killed. Not anymore. And all thanks to Hermione.

*****

Ron Weasley was sitting in the Great Hall enjoying the evening meal. Things had changed at Hogwarts. Oh, Runcorn was still nominally the Headmaster, but he hadn’t been seen outside his fake Headmaster’s office for days. Fudge had stepped down, and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Ephraim Doge, was the acting Minister for Magic. Just until the Wizengamot came around to reinstate Dumbledore as Chief Warlock and elect a new Minister, of course.

So, not much had officially changed at Hogwarts, but everyone acted as if the Headmaster was already back, just on a vacation. McGonagall ran the school, and the Aaurors tried to stay out of her way as much as possible. Even better, the Slytherins kept their heads down and tried to be invisible! But the best news was that Snape was gone! The git had shown his true colors and had fled after Voldemort’s defeat in the Ministry!

Speaking of… “Has anyone seen Malfoy today?” Ron asked at the corner of the Gryffindor table that had been taken over by his family and friends. “He wasn’t in DADA nor Potions.” Not that Potions was currently anything more but self-study. Without Hermione around to make anyone actually study.

Fred shook his head. “No. He’s still eating in the dungeons, with his bodyguard.”

“And the elves are still refusing to let us ‘check’ his food.” George added. “We’re working on them though. Sooner or later they’ll see things our way.”

“No one likes a rapist,” Lavender stated, her grim tone rather uncharacteristic for the usually perky witch. But after Snape’s escape and the search of his quarters by Aurors, rumors had cropped up that he had been covering up far more than just bullying. Ron believed it wholeheartedly - the man had been too foul and cruel to anyone not wearing a green badge.

“They haven’t found any hints of memory charms cast on students,” Neville cut in. Poor guy tried to assume the best of everyone.

“Of course they haven’t found anything! Snape was good enough to fool the Headmaster, no Auror will find traces of his spells!” Ginny was a vehement believer in the ‘obliviation conspiracy’. His sister hadn’t forgotten what Malfoy and that cursed diary had done to her in her first year.

“Ginny’s right. Snape will have erased all the proof of his or Malfoy’s crimes,” Ron stated, cutting up another sausage on his plate.

“That means the Aurors can’t do anything.” Lavender stared at the Slytherin table, as if she was looking for Malfoy there.

“They cannot do anything, but we can.” Fred’s grin showed more teeth than a manticore. “He can’t hide forever in the dungeons, and his bodyguard is just one wizard.”

Everyone at their table nodded, even Neville.

*****

Hermione looked cute when she was asleep. Cuter, Harry Potter amended. She was wrapped up in the duvet and clutched a pillow to her chest. Like… for a moment Harry was jealous of that pillow. Then he smiled and gently brushed a lock of hair that was hanging into her face back behind her ear. Her nose twitched in response, and he chuckled at the sight.

He must have been a bit too loud, since the witch opened her eyes soon afterwards. “Harry?”

“Yes.”

She lunged up and hugged him, hard. Surprised, he lost his balance and started to fall down on her. He barely managed to stop his descent with his arms.

“It worked. The soul shard’s gone from my scar,” he whispered in her ear while she slowly relaxed her death grip on him. “Thanks to you.”

Hermione sank back on the bed until she was staring straight into his eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders. “When you collapsed… they told me you were well, but you looked so…”

“I am fi… OK now,” Harry teased, then grinned at her when she scowled briefly. He dipped his head down and kissed her.

A bit later they were sitting on her bed, arms around each other. “What’s been happening while I had to rest?” Hermione asked, frowning, no doubt, at the memory.

“I don’t actually know much. After I got up, I went to see you.” Harry was certain that if anything important had happened, they would have been told. There was the prophecy to consider, after all, so he’d be needed to finish Voldemort off. And Hermione wouldn’t be kept from helping him.

“So, Dumbledore hasn’t accepted his old offices back yet?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything about that. I don’t know why he hasn’t stepped up already.”

“Maybe he wants a few more concessions - or he wants to do something that he couldn’t do as Chief Warlock,” Hermione speculated.

“What could he do now that he couldn’t as the leader of the Wizengamot?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to set a precedent? Or doesn’t want the office become associated with killing?” Hermione frowned at her own words. “Or he simply is too busy tracking Voldemort and Snape to bother with politics.”

Harry nodded. That sounded likely. Dumbledore still maintained that Snape was on their side - or had been - but the young wizard didn’t believe that. The Potions professor had been too nasty to anyone not from Slytherin, too protective of scum like Malfoy, for someone opposing Voldemort. Hermione shared his scepticism. “I think that’s it. Who else would be able to find the Dark Lord? Surely not the Aurors!” he said.

Hermione giggled. “They’d find him only if they were trying to evade him.”

Harry laughed with his girlfriend at her joke. At least Voldemort was seriously weakened, having lost his best underlings, so he’d not be able to stir up trouble anytime soon.

*****

The Dark Lord Voldemort gazed upon Hogwarts from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Once the castle had been the only home he had known. He would have, had done, anything to stay there forever, instead of returning to his orphanage. Then it had become the bastion of his worst enemy. The fortress that had never fallen to him, had never been breached even. Now, with Dumbledore no longer the Headmaster of the school, or not yet again, it was the best chance he had to strike back at his enemies.

He looked to his side, at his assembled army. He had chosen to attack at night so his vampires would be able to partake in the fighting, and yet there were far fewer than he had expected. Barely a handful, compared to the army Roselyn had promised, but had failed to deliver. The vampiress had disappeared the night of the fight in the Ministry. Ultimately, she had been just another coward, deserting him at the first sign of a setback. Once he had conquered Britain he’d hunt her down and make her pay. He had not many werewolves either - only a few had joined his ranks, those of Fenrir Greyback’s followers who had not found another pack. Fortunately, they were the most vicious of Fenrir’s old pack - and all were carrying wands. Muggle werewolves knew better than to come to his attention.

At least he had his Death Eaters. They might not be as numerous, nor as skilled and experienced as he’d like them, and he had lost the best of them, but they were loyal, and knew their duty. He had made sure of that. And the demons under his banner - Dementors, and other, more mercenary-minded species - would do his bidding, as long as there was loot and food. And Hogwarts would provide both.

And with his new power, the school was ripe for the picking. He might have lost his familiar, but he had gained so much strength, the wards would not stop him for long.

Raising his wand, he started the assault.

*****

Ron Weasley was in the Room of Requirement, staring at the Marauder’s Map Harry and Hermione had sent to him a few days ago, and trying to find a way to get to Malfoy without alerting his bodyguard - did the wizard have to sleep in the snake’s chamber? - when he felt the room tremble.

“What was that? Did one of your experiments backfire again?” he shouted towards his brothers.

“That wasn’t us, Ron.” Fred shook his head.

“If it affected the room, but didn’t happen inside…” George and Fred reached Ron just as he was folding the map out and checking the entire castle instead of just the Slytherin dorms.

“Merlin’s balls!”

Ron didn’t know who of the twins had said that, but seeing ‘Voldemort’ at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, at the head of many, many others, it was certainly an apt reaction.

“Ron, Fred, George! All students have been ordered to their dorms! McGonagall said there were intruders!” Ginny, who was on lookout duty that night, stuck her head through the door that connected the Room of Requirement and the Gryffindor dorms.

“Intruders? It’s a bloody invasion!” Fred exclaimed.

“We need to keep control of this room. With the map we can use it to shuffle people around. Ambush the attackers.” Ron was staring at the map. They had to get help. He focused on the room, wishing for a Floo Connection. It appeared at once.

George was there before Ron could point it out. “The Burrow!” His brother threw powder into the fire, but the flames didn’t change color. “It’s not working!”

“They have blocked floo travel.” Ron cursed under his breath.

“That’s impossible. It’s Hogwarts! The Burrow!” Fred tried it himself, but had not any success either.

“It’s Voldemort. He doesn’t want the castle, he wants the students,” Ron stated. The Dark Lord was still at the edge of the forest. The castle trembled again. The young wizard had no doubt that the dorms wouldn’t be able to stand up to a force that was able to breach the wards of the school. They had to get the students to safety! But how, with the floo blocked? Apparition was blocked anyway, as were portkeys.

He grinned when the answer came to him. “We’ll evacuate the students through this room! Fred, George, open a door to the tunnel to Hogsmeade! Check if the way is clear! Ginny, get Lavender and Neville, we need to block the door here!” While any other door would disappear if they wished it, they couldn’t vanish the door to the 7th floor like that. He hoped none of the invaders knew about the room, but they had to prepare for the worst.

His siblings were already moving, for once not stopping to complain or make fun of him. Seeing the mass of invaders ready to storm the castle, Ron was not in a mood to celebrate.

*****

Voldemort grinned and spread his arms wide. The wards had fallen! He wandlessly cast a Sonorous Charm so his voice would carry through the ranks of his army - and reach the castle’s defenders, to inform them of their fate. “The way his clear! Storm the castle! Kill the adults, but capture the children alive!”

The monsters to his left and right surged forward with a cacophony of inhuman roars and shouts. The Polgara demons were waving their skewers around - they had fed over an hour ago, when the centaurs had attempted to stop Voldemort’s advance, so they were getting hungry again. They and the Fyarl demons were his vanguard. Dumb and tough enough to lead the way.

As expected, the defenders had prepared while he had been taking down the wards. Plants erupted from the ground halfway between the castle and the forest, tentacles wrapping around the demons in the lead, dragging them down into the earth. Sprout must have gotten some Brazilian Devil Snare, Voldemort noted. One of his Death Eaters showed initiative and cast a fire spell at the plant. Quick thinking, but the man must not have paid attention in Herbology. The plants ignited at once, burning the demons in their grasp to death as they turned into ashes themselves. But the way was clear now. He sent a few Dementors ahead as well, but kept the rest in reserve - they’d stop reinforcements from arriving. There were not many who could cast a Patronus strong enough to drive a Dementor away, and they would be held back by helping the others who were too weak to protect themselves.

“Milord!” Another of his Death Eaters, Crawley, addressed him. “My son’s in Slytherin, he’s a seventh year, and an adult!”

Voldemort scoffed at the man. If the Death Eater’s son was an adult, why hadn’t the brat sworn himself to the Dark Lord already? “You should hurry to the Slytherin dorms then, so you arrive before our hungrier allies!” That should motivate the man to do his best.

He dismissed the matter and strode forward, to deal with the first line of defenders. He had to take the castle before reinforcements and Dumbledore appeared.

Once he had the children in his power, the old man and the Ministry would have to surrender.

*****

“The way is clear!” Fred was bent over, hands on his knees, panting. He must have run the whole way. “George is guarding the exit!”

Ron smiled. Finally, good news - the invaders were already at the walls. “Did you alert the Aurors?” The curse from Fred told him all he needed to know. “Hurry back and get to a Floo in Hogsmeade! Inform dad and Sirius!” Their dad would be able to reach Dumbledore, and Sirius would be able to inform Harry and Hermione - and with them the Slayer.

“Ginny!” His sister turned towards him from where she was helping Lavender, Parvati and Neville to reinforce the door to the 7th floor. “Get back to our dorm and get all the Gryffindors in here! Hex them if you must, but get them in here so they can flee to Hogsmeade!”

The witch ran off. Ron returned his attention to the map. Part of the wall had disappeared. A veritable horde was rushing to the castle. Many of the names of the invaders he couldn’t understand, or even pronounce. Where did Voldemort get them… then he realized what they were. Demons! And the names of the defenders were disappearing. They couldn’t apparate on the grounds so that meant...

The first Gryffs were arriving - confused and afraid first and second years. They gazed in wonder at a room they had not known of. Ron cursed. They would need a third year to lead them around in Hogsmeade, so they could floo to safety. He sent them through the door to the tunnel anyway. They’d be safer there. When he spotted Colin Creevey he shouted “Colin! Run ahead, and make sure the firsties and second years reach the next Floo!”

“But I can help here!” Colin brandished his wand.

“They need your help more! Do you want Death Eaters to catch them? Go! Run!” Ron screamed at him, and the boy jumped through the door without another word.

Another look at the map showed Ron that the invaders had gotten inside the castle. They were running out of time. “Parvati! Go and get the Ravenclaws! Hurry!” He pointed at a door he had the room create right then.

“Lavender!” Ron pointed at another door. “That leads to the badgers!” They would be more organized than the ‘Claws. ‘Puffs stuck together. “Get Susan to evacuate them to this place, then return!”

“Neville! Grab volunteers from our sixth and seventh years, and barricade that door!” Ron turned to the map again. The invaders were rapidly advancing. He couldn’t see many Aauror names at all - they must have been killed, or fled. Most of the teachers seemed to fall back to the dorms. The first demons reached the courtyard. Death Eaters - those names sounded familiar - were rushing towards Slytherin. Well, the snakes would be safe from them, wouldn’t they?

The first ‘Puffs and ‘Claws were arriving, and things started to get crowded. That most of the students didn’t know what was happening and many were wondering where they were didn’t help. Ron focused his will, and the room grew in size, the doors relocated so there was space for the students who could not yet leave through the tunnel.

Then he cast a Sonorous and shouted: “Everyone, shut up! Voldemort and an army of demons and Death Eaters are attacking the school. They have breached the walls. The Aurors and teachers cannot stop them. This door there leads to a secret tunnel to Hogsmeade. We’ll get you all out, just wait your turn. Prefects - make sure no one is left behind, and guard the entrances!” The confused and scared students were as loud as before, but at least they knew what was happening. Ron looked at the map again.

The first Death Eaters had reached the Slytherin dorm entrance. Professor Sinistra was there too, on the other side. Ready to defend the dorm. Ron balled his fist. The snakes should be safe… at least the ones with Death Eater parents. And if he tried to evacuate the Slytherins, the snakes would sabotage the evacuation, or betray them to Voldemort. He couldn’t risk that. He should leave them to their fate. He… couldn’t do that.

Ron turned to the group of volunteers around Neville. “Neville! I am opening a door to the snakes. Take half the people here and start getting them in here. Anyone who gives you trouble, stun them!” Neville had some family on the Slytherin side, he’d be the best choice to handle that. “Everyone! We’ll get Slytherins in here soon. Some of them might be enemies, so keep your wands ready and your guard up!”

Neville started to run, pushing his way through another bunch of disorganized Ravenclaws. The badgers arrived by years, led by prefects, the youngest ones first, and Ron had a feeling many of their upper years would want to stay and make sure everyone else got out first.

He hoped they’d not need them to. But another look at the map told him his hope would be in vain, should anyone of the enemies know about the Room of Requirement.

*****

Voldemort’s shield barely flickered in response to the curse that hit it. The Dark Lord turned and spotted an Auror one floor above him, casting down at his army. Voldemort saw the red-robed wizard’s eyes widen when the fool realized just who he had attacked. Before the man could flee, Voldemort’s Blasting Curse hit the floor under him and blew it and the idiot up.

Up ahead a bunch of Polgara demons ran up one of the stairs, but missed that it was moving, and the first rank fell to their death. It wasn’t the only such incident - it seemed Hogwarts itself was defying him! He’d teach the castle who was its master, once his enemies had surrendered or fled!

The Slytherins would be handled by his Death Eaters, he could trust them. But attacking any of the other dorms might draw out McGonagall and Flitwick - two formidable fighters whose spells had already taken a toll on his army. Neither could stand against him, of course. They’d defend any dorm so it didn’t matter which one he would attack. He picked Gryffindor - the house of Slytherin’s worst rival. The demons could deal with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

On the way a pack of Hellhounds ran past him, chasing a fleeing Auror. Voldemort’s Body-Binding Curse ended the wizard’s flight and he toppled over, screaming and cursing while ineffectually trying to break the spell. Grinning, the Dark Lord walked away, stepping over a dead Lei-Ach demon, while the demons started to feed on the man’s brain.

A sign on a door, ‘Headmaster’s Office’, made the Dark Lord pause. That wasn’t the Headmaster’s office. Then he remembered Runcorn. Smiling, he blew the door open, then sent a Dementor inside. The screams didn’t stop until he had almost reached the Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady wasn’t in the portrait, and wouldn’t have opened to door for him anyway. It didn’t matter - it took only a few spells to get past the portrait.

The common room inside seemed empty. No sign of either McGonagall or Flitwick - which meant there were traps and they were lying in ambush for him, of course. A few finites revealed transfigured and disillusioned animals, which he quickly dispatched with a few piercing and blasting spells. The expected attack from the two didn’t follow though. Frowning, he ventured forth. Another trap at the entrance to the girls’ dorm. He finited it and sent a Grox’lar Beast up the stairs. It slid down again when the stairs disappeared.

“Who here is female?” Voldemort looked at the demons around him. One giant mantis raised its - her - claw. “Go up there!”

The stairs stayed for her, and the demon climbed up. Voldemort sent the Grox’lar Beast up to the boys’ dorms. The beast moved more cautiously now. Not cautiously enough though - Voldemort heard a scream, and pieces of the demon rolled down the stairs.

Smirking, Voldemort conjured a cloud of acid and sent it up the stairs. It would fill the tower, and force the teachers to deal with it before the children died. And two Dementors, immune to the acid, would make that quite difficult. With a nod, he sent them upstairs as well.

After a few minutes without anything happening - and no screams - they descended again. At the same time, the mantis demon returned, announcing in her clicking language that the dorms were empty.

Cursing, the Dark Lord turned around. He needed those children as hostages for his plan to work! “To Ravenclaw!”

*****

McGonagall and Flitwick looked rather hurt, Ron Weasley noticed, as he made the door behind them disappear. Their skin and robes were discolored. Neither seemed to let that affect them though.

“Impressive, Mister Weasley. But where are you evacuating the students to?” the Deputy Headmistress asked raising an eyebrow at the still chaotic mess in the Room of Requirement.

“Tunnel to Hogsmeade,” Ron answered, then blinked. “We need to seal the other end of the tunnel too, before someone finds it.” He pointed at two of the Ravenclaw prefects pushing their lower years through the door. “Melanie! Roger! Go and fill the other side of the tunnel, the one that leads back to Hogwarts, with conjured stone!” The two headed through the door. Probably glad to have an excuse to leave, Ron thought, then shook his head. They had stayed to help, after all. He glanced over at the door to the Slytherin dorms. Neville hadn’t made much progress, but a number of the snakes were huddled in the room now, and more were trickling in. “The Slytherins are making trouble though.” And the Ravenclaws were still not done. At least the badgers had all left their dorm. Sprout wasn’t with them though. Ron didn’t think that was a good sign.

Flitwick was looking at the map. “Marvelous piece of charmswork. Who created it?”

“The Marauders - Potter, Black, Lupin.” Ron didn’t mention the traitor. Wait a minute… that traitor was here too! “Lavender! Search the map for Pettigrew! He can change into a rat and reach just about all places here.”

Then he spotted something else. A group of demons was gathering near the kitchens. The House Elves! He had forgotten about them! Hermione would kill him!

*****

India Cohen was frowning at Kit. Behind his back, of course. She had still not forgiven him for telling her that she should have ignored him and attacked the vampire witch. The fool! He might have died if she had done so! And if he had died, she certainly wouldn’t have wanted to live on.

“Pay attention to the book, India, not my back,” Kit said without looking up from his own book. How had he noticed? She was the Slayer, able to sneak up on demons!

He looked back at her right when she was sticking her tongue out, and grinned when she froze. He was her Watcher, indeed. Instead of apologizing and going back to studying - she was no Granger, she was the Slayer! - she stood up and walked, stalked over to Kit. His eyebrows rose, and she smirked.

“We have work to do. Training and studying,” Kit said when she stopped at his table, next to him. He didn’t sound that convincing to her though.

“Mh.” India sat down in his lap and ran her hands over his shirt, tracing his muscles. He stiffened under her. Not convincing at all. Grinning, she leaned forward to kiss her Watcher.

She was about to unbutton his shirt - he had told her not to rip them off anymore - when she heard steps in the hallway. Pouting, she slid off Kit, who understood at once and started to smooth his clothes. Whoever was about to disturb them better have a very good reason, or India would hurt them!

The door was thrown open by Granger. The witch looked out of breath. No stamina, India thought. Potter was an unfortunate boyfriend compared to Kit.

“Voldemort is attacking Hogwarts with an army of demons! We’re going in!” the girl shouted.

India smiled. She’d get to kill the Dark Lord for disrupting her fun with Kit!

*****

Albus Dumbledore cursed himself for a fool. If only he had accepted his old offices back at once this would not be happening! Voldemort would never have dared attacking Hogwarts if he had still or again been the Headmaster! But no, he had stalled, thinking he could do more while unburdened by additional duties, until Voldemort was defeated. Wished to avoid the politics for a bit longer. Hoped to find that they wouldn’t need him as much as they believed they did. And now this!

He was addressing the Order, which was still gathering at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. They couldn’t wait for everyone though - and most of those who had yet to arrive were not experienced combattants anyway. Not that they had many of those. Not among the older generation. Alastor, of course. Sirius and Remus - he had cleared them, at least. Amelia hadn’t even tried to argue when he had explained things this time. That was it, more or less. The younger generation would have to step up. Nymphadora had been called in with the other aurors, but young William and Charlie were ready to fight. Molly and Arthur were there too - it would be foolish to try to keep them from going, not with four of their family in danger at Hogwarts. Another new arrival stepped out of the floo: Percival. That was a surprise. But then, family stuck together in such times. Or should, he added, feeling an old pain.

They couldn’t wait any longer. “My friends. Voldemort, with an army of demons, is attacking Hogwarts. They are evacuating the children, but the situation is dire, even desperate.”

“Albus! Demons! My children are there!” Molly yelled.

Albus could see that the thought of facing an army of demons was weighing heavily on everyone’s mind. “We are not alone in this. Aurors are on the way too.” That didn’t make much of an impression. Understandable, if regrettable. He smiled. “And the Slayer will be joining us as well.”

As expected that had an even worse - and louder - effect. And he hadn’t even told them yet that Harry and Hermione would be fighting as well.

*****

The door to the Ravenclaw dorms wasn’t simply blasted open - it was blasted to smithereens by Voldemort’s spell. He would find the children, he would get his hostages, no matter who he had to kill, no matter what he had to destroy! This time he didn’t send any demons forward, instead leading the charge himself. He heard voices from upstairs. Yes!

Instead of running he flew up. Another door tried to bar his way and was blasted to dust in an instant. There! The students were … escaping through a door guarded by McGonagall and Flitwick!

He sent a barrage of curses at the two. Flitwick could have dodged them - the former dueling champion wouldn’t be caught that easily - but the curses would have struck his fleeing students instead. So he was forced to block, and his shield couldn’t stop all the spells Voldemort knew. McGonagall fared better, using transfigured and conjured walls to block his spell, but she couldn’t shield everyone - and she protected the students as well. The charms professor with the tainted heritage went down, one arm shriveling up while he screamed under the Cruciatus.

Voldemort was about to finish the diminutive wizard when suddenly the entire room was filled with darkness. He dropped to the floor at once, just in time - the demons behind him yelled with pain as curses and what sounded like banished blades struck them. When the Dark Lord had banished the darkness, his enemies and the door they had been fleeing through had vanished.

How had they… of course! The Room of Requirement!

Grinning cruelly, the Dark Lord stepped over his fallen demons. He knew how to reach that room. They wouldn’t escape from him again.

*****


	18. Showdown

**Chapter 18: Showdown**

Hermione Granger was grinding her teeth. She was still tired from the ritual that had restored Voldemort’s soul, but the young witch would curse anyone who tried to keep her from going to Hogwarts and help her friends. Fortunately, neither Uncle Quentin nor Harry were as foolish as to even suggest such, even though Harry looked like he wanted to. She had met his gaze and had cut him off before he could say anything though: “If you’re going, I’m going as well.”

It helped of course that as a witch, she was one of the few Watchers able to enter Hogwarts. Most of the Watchers couldn’t even see the castle. Only those with a talent for magic, even if it may not be enough to use a wand, could, and all of them were gathering. To her surprise the shy librarian, Rupert Giles, was among them. In her opinion it was a sign of just how urgent, if not desperate things were. Less than a dozen, all in all, not counting Harry and herself or the Slayer, who seemed to be quite angry that her Watcher was not coming.

India was carrying what looked like a modern repeating crossbow, and enough blades and stakes under her leather jacket to personally deal with an army of demons. Hermione hoped the girl wouldn’t have to. When Kit Botwell stepped closer and the two started whispering to each other, she turned away. 

Harry was standing a bit apart from the others, probably thinking of their friends, currently fleeing for their lives from Voldemort’s hordes. Hermione walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “They’ll be fine, Harry. Ron’s already evacuating the students through the Room of Requirement.” She hoped she sounded more reassuring than she felt - without Dumbledore Hogwarts was far too vulnerable. Harry smiled at her, but didn’t seem to believe her. 

He suddenly pulled her in close and kissed her. She kissed back, running her hands through his hair and over his back. For a moment, the upcoming battle was forgotten and there were just the two of them, sharing their love.

They broke apart when the last Watcher to go with them, a woman named Gwendolyn Post, arrived, with Uncle Quentin. The leader of the Council looked grim but determined as he addressed the group. “Hogwarts is under attack. Modern weapons should work, but as the Dark Lord was reported to have many demons with him, they won’t be too effective. With our strike teams unable to take part, it is up to you all to make sure Britain will be safe from this abomination. Your priority are Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Kill them all.”

The assembled Watchers nodded, their expressions as serious as his. Only India was smiling widely, apparently looking forward to the battle. Then the wizards and witches present took the hands of those not able to apparate, and Hermione felt the usual squeezing sensation as she was apparated to Hogsmeade.

*****

Harry Potter had his wand out when they arrived at Hogsmeade. For once he didn’t end up flat on his back or belly, but remained standing - more or less. Hermione though didn’t fare as well. He made sure they were safe - no enemy in sight - then helped her up. He wished she would have stayed at headquarters, safe, but he he knew she was too stubborn for that, too Gryffindor. And they would need every wand against Voldemort’s army.

They were close to the Shrieking Shack, as agreed upon with Dumbledore. A series of Wand-Lighting Charms spells illuminated the area around them. Harry wanted to rush to Hogwarts at once, to start fighting, but both Dumbledore and Mister Travers had ordered a meeting beforehand, to coordinate the attack. People were dying while they wanted to talk!

His face must have shown his thoughts since Hermione put a hand on his arm and whispered, low enough so only he and India could hear: “Dumbledore fought in the war against Grindelwald, he’s got the experience. Trust him in this.”

Harry nodded in response, unable to verbally agree. A series of pops made everyone whirl around and aim their weapons, ready to fight an ambush. It was Dumbledore and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, which mostly consisted of Moody, Sirius, Remus, and the Weasleys - even Percy was here. 

Geoffrey Patch, the Watcher Wizard in charge of the group, greeted them. “We’re all here.” He didn’t sound hurried at all.

“Good. Let us proceed to the Hog’s Head at once. The Aurors are gathering there.” Dumbledore stated, then apparated away himself. Harry saw Sirius coming toward him, but he was whisked away by a Watcher before his godfather got even close.

A second later he found himself in front of the disreputable pub - and on his stomach. While he scrambled up a stern-faced woman with a monocle wearing the red robes of an Auror was already talking to Dumbledore. She didn’t look or sound pleased. “The evacuation is still going on. We can’t enter through the tunnel while children are rushing out.” She looked at the Order members and the watchers with barely hidden disdain. “Your people can secure the village and take care of the fleeing students.”

Harry almost told her off, but Dumbledore was quicker. “I am sure Arthur and Molly and perhaps Percy will help out in the village, Amelia. But the others here will be far more useful in the castle, having more experience fighting such demons and Death Eaters than most of your Aurors. They have taken down Bellatrix Lestrange, after all, without me.”

That seemed to surprise the woman Harry belatedly recognized as the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones. She looked at Harry, Hermione and India, then back at Dumbledore. “Children, Albus?” Harry had to clench his teeth together to avoid shouting at the two of them to stop posturing and attack Voldemort. 

Then he felt arms around him - Sirius had run over. “Harry!” His godfather hugging him and telling him to be safe didn’t help with the impression Madam Bones must have had of him, of course.

Dumbledore kept his calm though. “Those three have taken down a vampire witch, Amelia, and Harry has faced Voldemort more often than anyone else here, me included.” Harry realized that the Headmaster didn’t want to reveal the Slayer’s presence, nor the prophecy - or the plans he had shared with Harry in case of a confrontation with the Dark Lord.

“We’re wasting time,” Hermione spoke up. 

Dumbledore simply smiled at Madam Bones. A few seconds later she cursed. “Dawlish! Take five Aurors and handle the evacuation from here, then go up to Hogwarts through the tunnel once it’s clear! The rest of you - mount up! We’re flying in.”

Harry had his Firebolt out in seconds, but hesitated before mounting it, looking at Sirius. 

His godfather sighed. “There’s no use trying to tell you to stay back, is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Like James. Just be careful, Harry. Please.”

“I will, Sirius.” Harry hugged the older wizard, then mounted his broom. Hermione got up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. A second later they were up in the air, racing toward Hogwarts amidst aurors, Watchers and Order members.

*****

“Hurry! Hurry! The door won’t hold for much longer! Everyone, step through here, then head to the tunnels to Hogsmeade!” 

Draco Malfoy despised Longbottom’s whiny voice. Who did the fool think he was fooling? When the Slytherins had been ordered back to their dorms earlier, many had wondered who would dare attacking Hogwarts. Draco of course had known it was the Dark Lord, here to avenge his murdered followers. He would have cursed that impostor Head of House, Professor Sinistra, in the back right after she had come inside to seal the door, but the witch had mentioned demons and Dementors attacking the school, which had given the other Slytherins pause. Fools! As if those loyal to the Dark Lord had anything to fear from his creatures! 

Draco of course had seen through the lies, and had hidden himself away - a cunning move, as had been proven when Longbottom had invaded their dorm. The boy claimed to be here to evacuate the students, but Draco knew that the Gryffindors would kill him in the confusion, and blame it on the Dark Lord. If only his bodyguard had not run off to fight those “invaders”!

“Hurry up!”

The squib was close, Draco knew. Longbottom must be standing next to the door they were herding the Slytherins through - almost right outside the room Draco himself was hiding - waiting! - in. The Slytherin could hear the sounds of combat - screams, explosions, shouted invocations - through the thin gap of the door. More screams. The Dark Lord’s forces must have broken through! They had taken their time though, far longer than Draco had expected. But now was the time to strike!

“For the Dark Lord!” Draco pulled the door open and stepped out, wand out and aimed at Longbottom. The squib’s eyes were wide with surprise and shock, and Draco grinned with delight, but before he could cast a curse he was struck from behind. The force of the impact threw him forward, but he managed to turn around enough before he hit the floor to face whoever had cursed him in the back.

It was a Death Eater! Draco opened his mouth to shout at the traitor, but then he felt as if his lungs were on fire, and all that came out of his mouth was a scream followed by flames. While he was in agony, a piercing spell hit the masked wizard, blowing a hole through his mask and skull. Draco turned his head, trying to breath, trying to scream with lungs filled with fire, and just caught a glimpse of Longbottom lowering his wand and closing the door, which then disappeared.

The young Slytherin was left staring at the wall, smoke and flames coming out of his mouth, burning his throat and lips and nose while he was slowly suffocating.

*****

“Remove the door, Ron!”

At Neville’s yell Ron Weasley turned his attention away from the door to the kitchen, through which hundreds of house elves had come, and made the door to the Slytherin dorms vanish at once. “Did you get everyone out?”

The other Gryffindor shook his head. “No. A number of the older students were helping Professor Sinistra, in their commons room I think, and none of them made it back. Others didn’t want to flee and hid.” He shuddered. “But I think we got most of them who wanted to flee out.”

Ron didn’t have to ask about the fate of the Professor and those who had stood with her; Neville’s expression said enough. “Ok. Now get…”

“Pettigrew disappeared! He was in the Slytherin dorms but he isn’t there anymore! I can’t find him outside either!” Lavender’s yell interrupted him.

Apparition was impossible in Hogwarts, and if the rat was not outside the dorms or on the map… “Merlin! He’s in here!” Ron shouted. “Look out for a rat! It’s an animagus, a Death Eater!” Too late he realized what panic that would cause.

Many of the students, even the Slytherins, were screaming, and hurried to the door that led to the tunnels, pushing and shoving. Others were casting in the confusion, and at first Ron thought they had seen the rat - until McClaggen was banished into a wall. There were traitors among the snakes!

“Stun the snakes!” he shouted, cursing his decision to evacuate them. One 6th year sent a curse at him, but Lavender stepped in front of him, stopping it with her shield. While his girlfriend was dueling the traitor, other Slytherins were engaging Neville and his group. Ron saw another snake line up a spell on Lavender, and cast a bludgeoning curse that smashed the git into the closest wall so hard, he was knocked out. Ron cast a Stunner and a Body-Binding Curse anyway, just to make sure that one wouldn’t get up anytime soon, while Lavender ducked under a dark green curse, then hit her attacker with a Dancing Feet Spell. That broke his concentration and made him unable to dodge, and he soon fell to spells from Ron and Lavender.

Neville and his group were taking down the other snakes, and... McGonagall was dueling Pettigrew! And winning! The traitor’s shield was buckling under the spells the teacher sent at him, and he was hemmed in by conjured lions to either side, with smaller cats waiting behind them. The animagus even used the Killing Curse in his desperation, but a lion jumped in front of the witch and took the curse for her. Her next spell broke the man’s shield, and the other lion pounced.

Pettigrew’s wand arm was crushed in the big cat’s jaw while the lion’s paws held him down. The traitor screamed while blood spurted from his limb, feebly trying to hit it with his silver hand, until the lion ripped out his throat, and he couldn’t scream anymore. McGonagall was smiling slightly when she turned away, and Ron was distinctly reminded of Crookshanks after the half-kneazle had dropped a dead mouse at Hermione’s feet.

A dozen Slytherins lay on the ground, stunned or otherwise incapacitated. Half a dozen Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had been hit as well, and only two of them could be ennervated. The rest were hurt and needed more help that could be given by the people in the room. Pomfrey hadn’t been in the Infirmary last Ron had checked; he didn’t know where she was - or if she was still alive.

“Levitate them into the tunnel!” McGonagall ordered, “They need help!” 

Just as the students started to obey, the entire room shook. Ron saw that someone had blown the main door off it’s hinges. The barricade in front of it hadn’t fared much better. 

“Hurry up!” he yelled, while causing the room to grow walls around the barricade. A glance at the map confirmed his fears - Voldemort was attacking. “Voldemort’s outside!”

Most of the students, even among those who had followed Neville to the Slytherin dorms, screamed and panicked upon hearing that. Lavender though stayed, as did Neville, Dean and Seamus. And, sadly, Ginny and Luna. All of them were nervous, some were trembling, but they had their wands aimed at the door while behind them the other students and the elves pressed through into the tunnel. Flitwick, despite his wand arm having been shriveled by a curse, and McGonagall were there too, of course. 

The room shook again, and Ron created more walls and barriers. Voldemort was no longer on the map, so he was in the room now. The head of House Gryffindor ordered the elves to carry the unconscious students, then turned to the group. 

“We can’t leave anyway, even if we wanted, until the rest are gone and do not block the way anymore, Professor,” Ron cut her off before she could say anything. 

“Gryffindors,” the old witch said, and Ron wasn’t sure if she was praising or insulting them - or both. 

So he grinned at her, and started to widen the room some more. He had barely managed to erect walls to shield that door to the tunnel from view when the barricades in front of him exploded, showering the students and teachers with rocks and debris.

And through the cloud of dust thrown up by the blast, Voldemort walked in.

*****

India Cohen grinned, holding on to Patch while they flew on his broom towards the castle, at the forefront of the relief force. An army of demons and a Dark Lord awaited her - and she was looking forward to it! Usually, it was just her - the Slayer fights alone with her Watcher - but this time, she had an army at her back! If only Kit were here and could see her...

With her enhanced vision she could see that two dozen Dementors were floating around the castle, and had noticed the approaching broom riders. If she timed it right she could pounce on one of them and ride it down to the ground while killing it… Suddenly a bright light cut through the darkness, and a glowing white stag flew towards the demons, sending them fleeing. India turned her head and sent a glare at Harry, who had just driven her prey away. Not that he’d notice her sentiment in the night.

Patch descended to the courtyard. India jumped off to drop the last three meters - she hated relinquishing control of her movement to others, it made her feel too vulnerable. The Slayer shot a Polgara Demon in the head while falling and before Patch had touched the ground, India had already charged a mantis demon at the edge of the yard. The monster’s two giant pincers struck at her, but the Slayer easily dropped down and slid under them, then jumped up, ramming a dagger into each of the demon’s eyes. The blinded monster started to wildly flail around in a useless attempt to hit her while India used the opportunity drop to the ground again and cut into its legs. When it fell, she was ready to cut its neck.

All around her wizards were landing and casting. A number were staying on their brooms - some to guard the courtyard against returning Dementors, others to rain down deadly spells on the monsters on the ground, or to hurl magic at the windows. Watcher Post was shooting with a pistol at what looked like a hellhound, then used a sabre to dispatch the wounded monster. That wasn’t as surprising though as seeing Watcher Giles disemboweling a Grox’lar Beast with a sword without batting an eye, then running another through. That man was wasted in a library!

A barrage of spells from one of the towers hit a group of wizards, leaving one of them burning and another coughing up his intestines. India was halfway to the base of the tower before she realized that a dozen red-robed wizards had returned fire already, turning the windows of the tower into craters and filling the rooms behind it with flames. Then the Slayer spotted Dumbledore, Harry and the Granger girl making their way towards a big set of doors. They would be going for the Dark Lord! Cutting the tendons in the legs of a Polgara Demon in passing and dusting a vampire trying to sneak up on a wizard with a thrown stake from behind while running, she caught up to them, grinning widely. A pair of Dementors appeared to bar their way. Harry was raising his wand, but India wouldn’t let him chase her prey away this time. 

Before he could cast the Slayer had charged one of the demons, grabbing it with one hand and stabbing it in the face with a blessed silver knife with the other. It screamed and trashed, but couldn’t do anything to her until it turned to dust under her assault, leaving her holding its tattered robes. She turned to the other, who had been trying to flee, but had been held up by a cage dropped on it. Flashing a brief smile at the old wizard who had caught it, she went to work on that demon.

When that monster too had stopped screaming and its empty robes had dropped to the ground of the cage, India noticed that half a dozen red-robed wizards were staring at her. One of them stammered: “She killed a Dementor!”, pointing at her with a shaky hand.

Another, a witch, shook her head wildly. “Dementors cannot be killed!”

The Slayer flashed the witch a wide smile. “I can kill anything and everything!”

Dumbledore blocking a series of spells from the side with a bright shield shook the wizards out of whatever trance they were in, and they spread out to engage the Death Eaters who had cast at them. India was tempted to attack the wizards herself, but decided to stick with the old Wizard and Harry and Granger. She was after bigger prey than some minions.

*****

Ron Weasley, protected behind his girlfriend’s Shield Charm, stared at the Dark Lord for a second, then raised walls - thicker, stronger ones - between him and the few defenders, even though he knew they wouldn’t stop Voldemort. But there were still people trying to flee and they needed more time. He couldn’t leave until they had fled - if he didn’t vanish the door to the tunnel the Dark Lord would pursue them to Hogsmeade!

He stared at the map, then opened a door next to the first door. This one led to the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, the one he had been dragged through by Sirius two years ago. “Get back!” he shouted, even as the walls he had erected exploded. Screams told him that this time, not all shields had held. Before he could erect new walls, McGonagall had stepped forward to duel the Dark Lord. 

Ron cursed and grabbed the map. “Fall back! Fall back!” he shouted, pulling Lavender with him. He needed more distance to create more walls - this time between himself and McGonagall. 

Neville was pulling a cursing, limping Ginny with him while Dean was pushing a dazed, bleeding Seamus towards Ron. Luna brought up the rear, and Ron started to fill up the space behind her with rock, marble, whatever he could think of. He couldn’t see Flitwick anymore.

The small group of students was now at the back of the room, and Ron could see that only a handful of students was left in front of the two doors to the tunnels. He pointed at them. “Go, flee to Hogsmeade!” His friends didn’t move until he started towards the doors himself.

“I made the room, I have to be the last one out! Go on, go on!” He waved them through, standing at the door. They didn’t question him and fled through the tunnel to Hogsmeade. Everyone but Lavender and Luna. He had to push the blonde Ravenclaw through the door when she started to shake her head at him, tears in her eyes. When the witch tried to get back inside, he closed the door and vanished it. His girlfriend was still maintaining a blue shield that protected both of them from the frequent explosions behind them.

“It leads to the Shrieking Shack,” Ron said, pointing at the other door. “Go, Lav!” She might have heard ‘Love’; it wouldn’t have been a lie either.

“Not without you!”

“I have to be the last, or he’ll chase you!”

Her eyes opening wide told him she had understood, and he pushed her through the door before she could object, then closed it and vanished it. Behind him, the last of his obstacles turned to dust and splinters under the Dark Lord’s spells, revealing the room again. McGonagall was still facing the wizard, but she looked battered and bruised, and reeling. He didn’t see Flitwick… there, a small, burning body was on the ground near the door.

His teacher glanced at him for an instant. “Go, Mister Weasley!” But Ron couldn’t leave, not now. He raised his wand to help the witch. Voldemort was surrounded by conjured animals of all sorts, trying to reach him, but his shield withstood their attacks easily. Ron’s piercing curse was absorbed as well, without any apparent effect.

The Dark Lord casually sent a Killing Curse at him in response. Ron raised a wall to stop it just in time, but the resulting explosion pelted him with rocks and splinters and left him on the ground in pain. Blood from a cut on his forehead ran into his left eye before he managed to close that wound. His leg hurt too much to stand though.

“Ah, you are the one who has control of the room!” Voldemort announced with glee.

“Mister Weasley, go!” McGonagall shouted, casting spell after spell at the Dark Lord. Half of them Ron didn’t even saw taking effect, but from the way Voldemort wielded his wand, he was doing something in reaction to them. Ron wasn’t out of the battle yet, though, and with his leg he couldn’t run even if he wanted.

He opened a trapdoor under the Dark Lord, which led straight to the Dungeons. The snake-faced wizard dropped down a meter, then rose up again - the monster could fly without a broom!

Ron glanced at the map again, still clutched in his left hand. The names in the Great Hall… he looked up and saw the Dark Lord hit McGonagall with a Killing Curse. Before the monster could cast another at Ron the Gryffindor student opened a trapdoor directly underneath himself.

*****

A cannon blast spell erupted in the Great Hall, followed by an overpowered lumos, before Albus Dumbledore entered himself. Two Dementors turned to face him, unaffected by his spells, while a few other demons were reeling. The Headmaster felt a brief flash of fury at such unnatural creatures defiling this location, his school, threatening his students, and dropped two conjured cages over the Dementors. While the Slayer charged ahead to destroy them, Albus cut two other demons to pieces with a series of Slashing Curses. Another of the creatures fell under the spells of Harry and Miss Granger. The old wizard didn’t spot any other enemy in the hall. Now where was Tom?

A sudden scream caught his attention, and he had just enough time to cast a levitation spell and a cushioning charm to save Mister Weasley’s life. Apparently, someone had installed a trapdoor in the ceiling of the Great Hall. But why would… ah! Clever! Movement in the open trapdoor warned him, and he summoned the brave boy to him before a spell from above smashed into him. Unfortunately, the rescue of Mister Weasley had cost him the opportunity to hit Tom while the Dark Lord floated down into the hall through the trapdoor himself.

“Ron!” Miss Granger shouted behind Albus. 

He quickly said: “Get him to safety, Miss Granger!” 

The Headmaster looked at his old adversary. Judging by the grin on Tom’s inhuman face, the wizard had realized that with four others to protect, Albus was at a severe disadvantage. He could only hope that Miss Granger would listen and remove herself and Mister Weasley from the Great Hall. Otherwise Albus would be facing a very difficult choice.

*****

Hermione Granger heard the order, and for a moment wanted to shout that she’d not leave Harry. Then all around the hall, spikes started to erupt from the ground, and only a quick jump on the Hufflepuff table saved her from getting impaled. The spikes disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, and she suddenly understood just how dangerous this clash between Dumbledore and Voldemort would be. With her still weak from the ritual, she’d be only a hindrance in that fight. She ignored the small voice in her head that told her that she’d only be a hindrance even well-rested, and started to drag the floating Ron towards the doors. He was bleeding and looked like he had caught a dozen bludgers with his body, and especially his leg, but his wand was out and he was trying to shield them both.

Another spell flew towards them from the floating Dark Lord, and only the Hufflepuff table suddenly jumping in its way saved them - and both their shields almost buckled under the hail of splinters the table exploded into.

“Bloody Hell!” Ron cursed.

“Language!” she said, automatically.

Both were laughing almost hysterically while she dragged him through the gates just before a whirlwind of blades appeared inside.

“Harry!” Her love was still in the Great Hall! The young witch tried to enter again, but the gates swung shut before she reached them, and none of her spells managed to open them again.

*****

Hermione and Ron were safe, Harry Potter knew that. He wasn’t - but he had rolled under the Gryffindor table when the whirlwind of blades appeared in the hall. A dozen of them impaled the table, the point of one almost hitting his head. He pressed himself flat on the floor and crawled further ahead, hopefully out of the Dark Lord’s sight, until the sound of rushing, whirling metal disappeared. Suddenly the smell of dust and something else disappeared - someone had cast a Bubblehead charm on him. Dumbledore, but why?

He rolled out from under the table and saw that Voldemort and Dumbledore were still exchanging spells at a rate Harry would have believed impossible. Harry didn’t recognize most of them either. Neither wizard seemed to be verbally casting, and both pointed their wands at each other, without going through complicated casting motions. It was an awesome but also humbling spectacle.

He saw that India was crouching behind Dumbledore’s old seat, shooting with her crossbow at the Dark Lord. Her bolts didn’t go through the shield surrounding him though, and a casual wave of his wand sent her scrambling for better cover while the staff table was turned into kindling behind her.

Dumbledore was waving his wand around, and multicolored arrows struck at the Dark Lord from all directions, causing his shield to waver. It did not break though, and in response, the Ravenclaw table started to rot, collapsing while brown clouds spread out from it. Wherever they touched the benches, or other wood or fabric, more rot started at once

A spell from Dumbledore stopped it, and another set the rotting material ablaze. Harry almost cheered, then saw that the Headmaster looked to be straining, and seemed to be limping - had Voldemort hurt him already, and that badly? Behind the student a dozen snakes appeared, spitting poison at him while insulting his lineage and sexual habits. Harry’s shield stopped the poison, and the snakes vanished right afterwards. Another of Dumbledore’s spells caused a fine blue mist to settle over Harry, and he realized that Dumbledore was protecting both himself and Harry - and probably the Slayer as well - from spells he didn’t even see, much less could recognize. No wonder the Headmaster looked as if he was having a difficult time!

Harry stood up and started casting spell after spell at the murderer of his family.

*****

Albus Dumbledore smiled. Miss Granger and Mister Weasley were safe. Harry and the Slayer were attacking Tom, and Albus himself had managed, so far, to protect all three of them. Mostly - a few curses had hit him, and he’d pay later for not dealing with them right away, he knew that. It couldn’t be helped though - Tom was far more powerful than he had expected after their last fight. He was casting faster, floating without apparent strain or need to focus, and his shields seemed to be more powerful too. At least his spell repertoire and imagination hadn’t grown.

Now if only Tom would cast directly at Harry, and the boy remember what he had been told before… Coughing up some blood, the old wizard countered another poison spell from Tom before conjuring a solid cap over the invisible acid quicksand trap the Dark Lord had placed near the Slayer and sending another spell at the Dark Lord that started to turn the air around him into vacuum.

*****

Harry Potter was dodging another blasting curse from the Dark Lord - mostly shielding, if he was honest - and rolled behind the remains of the staff table. “Can’t aim anymore, Tom? Old age catching up?”

It was a cheap shot, but Tom had a real big ego, maybe it would make him turn his attention to Harry.

The floating Dark Lord turned his inhuman head towards him, snarling. Another blasting curse showered him with splinters. Maybe if he got closer… He sprinted forward in zigzag course, as he had trained to with the Watchers, casting as he moved, but Voldemort deflected all his spells. Where was India? He had lost sight of her.

Harry shook his head after another near miss left him reeling slightly. There was no choice. When he saw Voldemort’s wand move again and a spell shoot in his direction, he dove toward the spell, and cast directly at it. “Confringo!” 

The two spells collided, and a golden cage sprung up around Voldemort and Harry.

*****

“Priori Incantatem!” Albus Dumbledore sighed with relief - and no small amount of pain - when he saw the golden effect surround Tom and Harry. It had been a long shot, but with Tom’s sudden growth in power, it was their best shot.

He sent a piercing curse and a few other spells at Tom, but as expected, the golden cage kept all his spell at bay. Now it was up to Harry to withstand Tom. If he managed to subdue Tom’s wand…

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case. Albus could see the rolling, glowing, pent-up energy of the two spells slowly drift towards Harry. Tom had grown just too powerful since their last confrontation. If those spells connected… 

But all was not lost yet. One last chance remained. 

Looking up, and seeing the Slayer on the chandelier closest to Tom, the old wizard smiled.

*****

Climbing the wall had been easy, but reaching the chandelier had been a pain - the support beams were hidden inside an illusion that had played havoc with the Slayer’s senses. Now India Cohen was almost at the Dark Lord though. He was protected by a golden shield that repelled her crossbow bolts. Even the blessed silver throwing knives. But she was the Slayer, she had other weapons. And if they failed, she was a weapon herself, one that never failed!

She stood up as far as she could without touching that damned illusion effect, then started to make the chandelier swing back and forth. She only needed a bit more… now!

Pushing herself off, India flew towards Voldemort. She hit the golden field and passed straight through. Her left hand gripped the wizard’s robes, her legs wrapped around him, and her right fist started hitting his face as hard and as fast as she could.

He was tougher than a human, but not as tough as a vampire. And not even nearly as strong, or as fast. A few quick jabs to his face left him reeling, and a hit to the throat smashed his larynx and left him choking. Then she gripped his head with both hands and pulled and twisted until she heard his neck break.

When the two started to drop to the ground, she knew she had won. She yelled with glee - the Dark Lord had been slain.

Then that energy ball which had been floating between the Dark Lord and Harry blew up.

******* **


	19. Picking up the Pieces

**Chapter 19: Picking up the Pieces**

_Hermione Granger had pounded on the gates leading to the Great Hall, cast at them, but they had remained closed. Locked and barred. Probably magically sealed as well. Behind them, Dumbledore, Harry and the Slayer had been facing Voldemort. “Harry!” she had shouted, again._

_“Hermione! Dumbledore defeated him once already, he’ll do it again!”_

_She had turned towards Ron Weasley, who had been sitting on the stone floor next to her, battered and bruised, holding his leg. For a second, she had been ashamed. Ron had not been able to stand, much less run, and around them, they had still been hearing the sound of fierce fighting as Aurors, Order members and Watchers had been engaging the remains of the Death Eaters and the demons in Voldemort’s horde. But her Harry had been behind those gates, locked in with that madman. Even with Dumbledore there, it would only have taken one spell and he… she hadn’t wanted to think about that. Hadn’t been able to think about it._

_“Watch the hallways!” She had knelt down next to Ron and had run her wand over his leg, wincing at the results from her diagnostic spell. “It’s broken. I can’t fix it myself.”_

_“Damn.” Ron had taken a deep breath, then had clenched his teeth together. He had been in obvious pain._

_“I can numb it and splint it though.” She had learned that earlier this summer - Watchers able to wield a wand needed to know such spells, they were very likely to get hurt doing their duty. A few spells later Ron’s leg had been encased in a conjured plaster, of sorts, and he had been looking better, even if his leg had still been broken._

_“What’s going on?” Her friend had waved with his wand at the rest of Hogwarts._

_“Aurors, the Order and the friends of the Slayer are battling Voldemort’s forces. I think we’re winning, but I don’t know what exactly is happening.” Judging by the fights she had seen and taken part in, Voldemort’s horde would not stand a chance without him, and the Dark Lord had been locked in combat with Dumbledore. But should he win…_

_She had taken a deep breath, and stared at the gates again, unwilling to move until they would open again. If Voldemort would be the one to open them… well, it would mean Harry would have died. There would be no point in fleeing then. “Watch the left side, I’ll take the right side.”_

_She had stood there, wand out, and tried to ignore the faint sounds of explosions she had heard through the gates, the faint tremors she had felt shaking the area. The arrival of two Polgara Demons had been almost a relief, giving her a target to focus on, and to vent her frustration and fear._

_“Confringo!”_

_The spell had hit the first demon directly in the chest. The explosion had sent its limbs and other pieces flying, with the head landing close to the two teenagers, and rolling past them. The other demon had hesitated a second, long enough for Ron to hit it with a jelly-leg curse. When the monster had tried to charge them, it had fallen down. Another blasting curse from Hermione had gone a bit wide, but had hit and destroyed one of its arms. After that, Ron and her hadn’t had any problems killing it while it futilely had tried to drag itself towards them._

_Any elation or satisfaction the young witch had felt about that feat had vanished right afterwards though, when an explosion had blown the gates to the Great Hall open - from the inside…._

“Harry!” Hermione rushed into the Great Hall, wand ready - and was greeted by utter destruction. The crushed remains of the tables covered the floor at the walls, where they apparently had been blown to. Only one chandelier was still left hanging, the others had fallen and lay smashed on the ground. The tapestries were shredded or burning, and the stone floor itself was sporting a crater, right where Voldemort had appeared. A thin cloud of dust was still settling. And… “Harry!”

Hermione rushed forward, towards the area where the staff table had been, and where she spotted the crumpled form of her boyfriend. He wasn’t moving, he was bleeding… from multiple wounds, including the head. But she could hear him breathing, or trying to.

Gasping and with tears in her eyes, she knelt down and cast a Bubblehead Charm on him, hoping it was just the dust that made it difficult for him to breath. It did help, but he remained unconscious.

”Episkey! Episkey! Episkey!”

A series of spells stopped the bleeding from the gash in his head and his other wounds. He didn’t wake up then either though. The young witch bit her lower lip, wondering if she should try to wake him up, or if it was better to let him rest, in case he could aggravate his injuries by moving.

“Hermione!”

She whipped her head around and saw Ron limping towards her. “He’s alive, but hurt! Watch him, and look for Dumbledore and India, I’ll get help!”

Without giving him a chance to say anything, she ran past him, out of the Great Hall. She needed to get help, now!

*****

“Go on! Go on! Head to the Three Broomsticks! The floo there is open!”

Molly Weasley stood in the Hog’s Head in front of the exit of the tunnel from Hogwarts, herding the students that were arriving out of the pub. The Floo connection there was already crowded, and the powder was getting scarce. Arthur, her husband, was outside, helping to guard the village. Her sons Fred and George were there as well - or so she hoped. They’d better be there, and not have gone back to the castle…

Another group arrived. Many of them looked hurt, some were limping, others were unconscious, being levitated by the rest. Molly waved them through and directed them towards the Floo of the pub. “Make way for the wounded! They need to get to St. Mungo’s right away!” The students standing in line scattered at her yell.

One of the wounded objected though. “We can’t, Mrs Weasley! There are traitors among them, we need them under guard to sort them out!”

Molly stared at him. “They fought for You-Know-Who?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Ron sent us in to evacuate them, and they attacked us!” More students nodded, sending angry glares towards the unconscious teenagers - who were all Slytherins, Molly noticed.

“Merlin! Go outside and call an Auror then!” Molly turned towards the tunnel again. Another group arrived, staggering.

“Ginny!” Molly rushed forward and hugged her only daughter, her youngest child. “You’re safe!” She ignored her daughter’s protests, or the sniggering of the other students who had come with her. Her daughter was safe! She was limping, but she was alive!

After a while she released the young witch, and looked around. “Where’s Ron?”

Ginny stopped looking indignant, and looked afraid. “He was behind us. He must have gone to the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack.” Next to her, Luna Lovegood was crying and shaking her head.

Molly gasped, then rushed to the door. “Arthur! Ginny’s here! She’s hurt, make sure she’s treated! I’ll look for Ron at the Shrieking Shack!”

Her husband had barely nodded before she was on her way, fear driving her on. She arrived at the shack that was supposedly the most haunted building in Britain and vanished the door when it seemed stuck. Inside, she heard sobs - someone was crying. Rushing on, she almost ran over a young witch coming out of a tunnel - Lavender Brown. Ron’s girlfriend!

“Lavender!”

The girl almost hexed her, or so Molly thought, before recognizing her. “Mrs Weasley!”

“Where’s Ron?” Ron wouldn’t leave his girlfriend alone, would he? She had raised her children better than that!

“He… he… he said he .. had to stay behind. To vanish the doors. Or the… the Dark Lord would follow us.” Lavender was looking at her, tears running down her cheeks. “He stayed back, in the room with You-Know-Who! And he vanished the door!“

Oh, Ron! Molly joined the girl in crying, the two witches holding each other.

*****

_He was pushing against the spell energy slowly moving towards him, and yet he could not stop its advance, much less send it back to Voldemort. He knew, somehow, that if that energy touched him, he’d die. And yet he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t save himself from death reaching for him, slowly, but inevitably. Until suddenly, the Dark Lord jerked, and Harry could push the energy back, towards Voldemort. But before it reached his enemy, it exploded, and he was hit with a giant bludger, flying through the air..._

Harry Potter opened his eyes, and stared at a blurry ceiling in a very familiar color. He was in the Hogwarts infirmary. When he turned his head to check if he was in his usual bed too, and where his glasses were, he noticed someone sitting next to his bed, sleeping. Even slightly blurry, he recognized her at once.

“Hermione?” He reached out and patted her arm.

“Harry?” She woke up with a gasp, almost standing up. “Harry!” He found his hand caught in a crushing grip as the witch grabbed it with both hands “Harry! You’re awake!”

Harry tried to pat her hand and noticed that his other arm was immobilized by a spell. As were his legs. “What happened? Is Voldemort…?”

“He’s dead. The body was found. What’s left of it, that is - the explosion left only pieces.” Hermione explained. Harry was reminded of Pettigrew’s ruse. Then she handed him his glasses. The charms on them must have protected them from the explosion, he thought.

“Dumbledore? India?”

“Both are alive, but both were hurt. India woke up earlier and has already left the infirmary, to the surprise of the healers.” Hermione grinned slightly at that.

Harry nodded. He knew that Slayers healed up faster - even faster with magical healing. But his friend hadn’t mentioned Dumbledore.

As if prompted, Hermione sighed. “The explosion hurt the Headmaster as well, but he’ll heal from the wounds it caused - among you three, he was the furthest away from the explosion. But he is suffering from the effects of a few dark curses he didn’t counter in time, or so he told us. Dealing with those will be more difficult.” Dark curses were a nasty business.

Harry closed his eyes. It was his fault. If he hadn’t been there, then the Headmaster could have concentrated on fighting Voldemort, and would have beaten the Dark Lord, just like in the Ministry. But Dumbledore had to protect him, and suffered for it. Was suffering for it still. A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts.

“It’s not your fault. Dumbledore said so. Without you and India, the Headmaster would have lost.” Hermione was staring in his eyes, and he could see she’d not let this drop until he agreed.

“How? He beat him before.”

“The Dark Lord has grown more powerful since then.” Hermione bit her lower lip, looking guilty.

“How? We weakened him with the ritual…” Harry trailed off. “Merlin’s balls! It strengthened him?”

“Yes. With his soul restored, he must have grown stronger.” Hermione looked away.

It was Harry’s turn to set her straight. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know. We needed the ritual, we needed to make him mortal, and to save you, but…”

“It is hard to believe it’s not our fault, even if we know it,” Harry finished for her.

Hermione nodded.

“Was Pomfrey mad at me getting hurt again, in Hogwarts?” Harry asked, trying to change the topic. When he saw Hermione flinch, he knew he had made a mistake, but how...

“She was killed by demons when she was trying to save Professor Sprout,“ Hermione said, looking down.

Pomfrey was dead. It felt wrong to be here, to be treated in the infirmary, with her dead. Harry took a few deep breaths. Hermione didn’t say anything, but rubbed his shoulder. “What about Sprout?” he asked after a bit.

“She was killed at the same time, or so it looked like,” Hermione answered.

Harry didn’t want to know more - demons of all kinds were brutal in their attacks. “Who else died?” Best to get it over with, Harry thought, before he asked to meet others who had died without him being aware of that.

“Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were killed by Voldemort when they were defending the Room of Requirement during the evacuation. Professor Sinistra died in the Slytherin common room; Death Eaters killed her - the Aurors are trying to find out if some students of hers attacked her from behind or not.”

Slytherins! Harry almost snarled. All four Head of Houses were dead. He shook his head.

Hermione continued. “Professor Vector is in St. Mungo’s in critical condition. They hope she will pull through. Professor Trelawney survived unscathed. She had removed the stairs to her classroom and quarters, and cast from there at the attackers below her.” Harry’s friend sounded as if she couldn’t believe that the Divination teacher of all professors had survived. “Hagrid was fighting demons. He got grievously wounded, but is healing. Sirius and Remus are alive and well, as are Tonks and the Weasleys.”

“What about the students?” Harry asked. Hermione would have told him first if a friend of theirs had died, wouldn’t she?

“Ron’s got a broken leg and bruises and a number of wounds, but he’s recovering nicely.”

“That’s impressive for facing Voldemort by himself.”

“Yes.” Hermione smiled briefly. “Molly has taken him to the burrow. She would have tried to take you there as well, she doesn’t trust Hogwarts to be safe right now, but Sirius put his foot down. All our other friends escaped. There were a number of student deaths. Mostly Slytherins, either fighting against the Death Eaters breaking into their common room, or fighting for the Death Eaters against Aurors.”

“Mostly?”

“A few students seem to have ignored the order to head to their dorms, and were caught out in the corridors when the walls were breached. They are still trying to identify the remains.” Hermione explained, looking grim. She must have remembered how she had been caught by that troll, so many years ago. “Malfoy was killed by a Death Eater.”

“What?” Harry gaped at Hermione. Had the ferret redeemed himself?

“He tried to hex Neville, and accidentally stepped into the line of fire of another Death Eater.” Hermione smiled. “A fitting end for that piece of scum.”

Harry agreed with her. “Oh, yes.”

“Pettigrew was killed too, in the Room of Requirement.”

Harry smiled widely. That filthy traitor finally got what he deserved!

Another voice interrupted them. “Mister Potter? I am Healer Brenwick. How are you feeling?” A middle-aged witch wearing white robes was smiling at the two of them, though she looked tired. Harry suddenly realized that if he was in the Hogwarts Infirmary and not in St. Mungo’s, then the clinic might have been swamped with patients.

“I am f…” Harry was interrupted by a hand covering his mouth.

“He is not fine. He’s got several broken bones, and needs Skele-Gro still. His bruises and wounds have been treated, but he’s still weak,” Hermione stated, switching from glaring at Harry to smiling at the Healer and back while she spoke.

“I know his state, Miss Granger. I was asking how he was feeling,” Brenwick chided Harry’s friend, who blushed slightly in embarrassment.

“I feel better, knowing Voldemort is dead,” Harry said. Before the Healer could chide him, he added: “I am not in pain, but I guess that’s because I haven’t been given the potions yet.”

“Correct. You’ve taken Skele-Gro before then. We had to vanish some of your bones because they had complicated compound fractures.” Brenwick held up a potion Harry was quite familiar with.

He looked around the room again. But for the absence of Pomfrey, it looked very familiar. But knowing how many had died, Harry knew that Hogwarts wouldn’t feel familiar. Not anymore.

*****

“Are you awake, Albus?”

“I am now, Amelia.” Albus Dumbledore hadn’t been before Amelia had asked. Which the head of the DMLE probably had known. He looked up, a gesture of his hand summoning his glasses. He didn’t wince at the pain he felt. “Did you identify all those who have died?”

“We’re still working on that. I am not here for that though. I’ve been hearing about a girl who supposedly killed a pair of Dementors with her bare hands. A girl who was found half-dead near the remains of the Dark Lord, and who disappeared from the infirmary here despite the Healer treating her claiming she’d not even wake up until tomorrow. What games are you playing, Albus?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly. “I am not playing any games, Amelia.” He tried to sit up and would have fallen back into his pillow if not for a quick spell to prop himself up. He felt so weak.

“You brought her with you.”

“It would be more correct to say that she came at the same time I did. She is not a member of my Order, but a recent ally, Amelia. I do not know where she is now.”

“Who is she, Albus? The rumor mill is running wild. Some people even think she’s the sister of Harry Potter and was hidden by you and trained in secret since she was the one to defeat Voldemort in 1981, and Potter was just a decoy.”

Albus laughed at that, then winced at the pain this caused to him. “I can assure you, she is not related to Harry at all.”

“Stop playing games, Albus. Who is she?” Amelia leaned forward, and Albus realized she’d not let up. And he was too weak, too hurt.

He summoned his wand, noticing Amelia tensing up as he did so, and cast a few privacy spells. “This does not leave this room, Amelia. You will not inform anyone of this.” He stared at her.

“Don’t try to threaten me, Albus.” Amelia met his eyes.

The Headmaster smiled. “I was not threatening you, nor ordering you. But I know you will not spread this, since I know you.” His smile widened just a bit when he saw her grinding her teeth. Then he grew serious again. “She came for Voldemort. She killed all who stood in her way, even those who cannot be killed. If she had died, she’d have returned, again and again, until Voldemort’s death.”

Amelia gasped. “That’s a fairy tale!”

Albus smiled, and shook his head. “You are wrong, Amelia. The girl you saw is the Slayer. She who stands against the Darkness. The Witch Hunters’ Scythe.”

“She’s real, and you brought her to Hogwarts? Are you mad?”

“She was already hunting the Death Eaters, and the demons following Voldemort when I met her. I simply made sure she’d only hunt the guilty, and not all wizards and witches.” He looked at her. “The Slayer is watching us, Amelia, to see if we become part of what she fights against. Watching, and waiting.”

“That’s… “

“You know what the Wizengamot would do, if they knew. And you have seen what she can do, what she will do, if they attack her.” He didn’t have to add that if she told anyone else, it would spread.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“To uphold the law, Amelia. She will know.” Albus didn’t think the Council would send the Slayer if a few Death Eaters escaped justice again, but if Amelia believed that, she’d become Minister for Magic just to ensure justice would prevail - and Britain needed her to. “But when you have caught the Dementors, bring them to a secure place, and then tell me. I have a feeling they’ll be taken care of then.”

Amelia didn’t answer. She gave the briefest of nods, and left. Albus canceled the spell propping him up, and let himself slowly sink down onto his pillow again. He was asleep before Fawkes landed on his chest.

*****

Ron Weasley woke up to the familiar sound of his family arguing. Loudly. He was home, in the Burrow. He was healed, even - after a day or two of Skele-Gro torture, and missing the big celebrations of Voldemort’s death. Not that he would have felt like celebrating anyway. Too many had died for that. Most of those celebrating were those who hadn’t fought, who probably didn’t understand just how bloody their victory had been.

Ron got up and grabbed his robe. A few spells later he looked presentable and headed towards the kitchen, where the loudest voices were coming from. As expected, Ginny was arguing with mum. After his little sister had gotten hurt at Hogwarts, Ron’s mother had become far too overprotective. Ron getting hurt, and seriously at that, hadn’t helped of course. Bill, Charlie and Percy claimed to have come through unscathed, but Ron suspected they had simply seen a Healer before meeting mum.

“Mum! The Dark Lord is dead! It’s safe!”

“That’s what we thought last time. And then they came for the Longbottoms!”

His mother was not completely wrong, Ron thought. But he was rather sure that Voldemort had taken anyone who could hold a wand with him, and that those who had escaped from Hogwarts would be fleeing now, not trying to do the Dark Lord’s bidding.

“What’re you arguing about?” he asked, entering. For a moment, everyone - mum, Ginny and the twins - grew silent. Dad and Percy were at the Ministry, Bill was with Fleur and Charlie was … somewhere.

Then Ginny spoke up: “I want to visit Luna. She’s our neighbour, and I can even take the Floo, if going outside is so dangerous.” She sneered slightly when she said the last word, shaking her head.

“The Lovegoods were quite outspoken against Voldemort, and their wards are not the best, they’d not protect anyone if their house were attacked!” Mum glared at her only daughter.

Ron grabbed some breakfast. “I am going to visit Harry and Hermione today. And Lavender.” His girlfriend had forgiven him for his ‘heroic sacrifice’ when she had visited him in the Burrow. She was a Gryffindor, after all, as she had proven herself. She even got along with his mum - a first for any girlfriend of a Weasley son.

His mum started on him, but he met her eyes without flinching, He had stood against the Dark Lord, all alone, at the end. He didn’t know if that made him a hero as some thought - he had received a lot of letters already, thanking him for saving the students, after the Daily Prophet had revealed his actions - but he was not about to let his overprotective mother keep him from visiting his best friends and his girlfriend.

*****

“And then I climbed up, jumped on the closest chandelier, and pounced on him!”

India Cohen used her hands to show the arc of her jump. “I grappled with him, hit him a few times to disorient him, then broke his neck.”

“That’s when you fell down?” Kit asked.

“That’s when I started to fall. The spell or whatever it was blew up before we reached the ground.” India’s proud smile slipped when she saw Kit’s expression darken. Her Watcher, her lover, was not happy.

“You almost died.” Yes, he wasn’t happy.

“But I didn’t. I survived. As did Harry and Dumbledore.” And the other Watchers with them. Even Watcher Giles, who was really wasted in a library. India smiled at Kit, and stepped closer to him, running her hand over his chest, up to his shoulder, to his neck, to cup the back of his head. She could feel him stiffen, then relax. He was not unhappy anymore.

“Yes, you survived.” Kit smiled, though she could see him hiding some sadness. He probably thought about her dying again. Every Watcher, every Slayer knew that a Slayer died young. It was something one had to accept, or go mad. And India wasn’t going mad, not after Kit finally had admitted that he loved her.

The Slayer smiled back at him, then molded her own body against his and kissed him. Her other hand slipped down, to his belt.

Kit broke the kiss. “You, we, still need to finish your report.”

That was her Watcher, alright. “It’s not due till tomorrow.” India smirked. She had most of it already done - Granger had loaned her a ‘dictaquill’ - but hadn’t told him yet. She was looking forward to see what her Watcher would do when he received a report written on actual parchment.

But that could, as she had stated, wait. She was the Slayer, and she needed her Watcher now, she thought, as one hand slipped lower, and the other pulled Kit into a kiss again.

*****

Dumbledore had been gravely hurt, Quentin Travers thought when the old wizard entered his office. The Watcher didn’t see visible wounds, but the wizard walked more slowly, more carefully, and wheezed just a bit when he sat down - heavily - in the offered seat. He not only looked, but acted his age now.

His visitor grinned wrily at the scrutiny. “I am not dead yet, but I am getting closer.” He hadn’t lost his humour, at least.

“What happened?”

“I was forced to delay dealing with a few curses from the Dark Lord, to ensure Harry and India could reach him without dying. The effects have sapped me of much of my health, but thankfully haven’t touched my magic or mind. Although I think I will be meeting most of my friends and family sooner than I expected - or, given just how powerful Tom turned out to be, in the end, maybe I will be meeting them later than I should have expected.”

Quentin nodded. Death was something to be expected and accepted as a Watcher. He had never thought he’d grow as old as he had managed, and he still doubted that he’d die in bed. “The Dark Lord was destroyed, and most of the children were saved. A successful mission by any account.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded, and Quentin could see that he was tiring already. “Although many of the teachers and Aurors present were killed. Or worse.”

“A price I am sure they gladly paid.” At least the teachers, according to what Quentin had heard. He didn’t think much of the Aurors who had been stationed at Hogwarts.

“Not everyone did so gladly, or so I would guess. Facing a horde of demons was not something any of them could have expected.” Dumbledore took a few deep breaths after speaking.

“It’s likely they would have faced a much reduced amount of demons, if the Aurors would have spent more time on hunting them before.” It would have also given them more experience fighting those monsters, in Quentin’s opinion. And it would have saved a lot of people outside Wizarding Britain.

“Something I will make sure to mention to the new Minister for Magic. Without mentioning the Council, of course. Unless you wish to strengthen your ties to Wizarding Britain.”

Quentin knew Dumbledore was in favor of opening lines of communication to the Wizards’ Ministry. He shook his head. “The danger of getting drawn into your internal affairs, politics and worse, is too great.” And too close contact, too much knowledge gained by the Wizards, would erode the Slayer’s reputation as the ultimate weapon against wizards.

“Maybe. It would also foster more trust though, and you would have more allies.”

“And more enemies. Though when it comes to standing against the forces of Darkness, any good man, wizard or not, should be our ally.” It was simple self-interest, even.

“Should, yes, but few are those willing to risk their lives protecting others.” Dumbledore smiled ruefully.

Quentin nodded. “Indeed. Did you capture all the missing Dementors yet?”

“We are close. The Slayer will be informed as soon as all is ready.”

“Good.” Quentin nodded. Eradicating those foul monsters would be a great step towards making Britain a safer place. Soul-eating floating demons normal humans couldn’t even see - and those fools had tried to use them as their tools? If things had turned out a bit differently, a few wizards would have been killed for bringing them to Britain. Still would, should Fudge ever fall into the Council’s hands.

“How are Harry and Miss Granger doing?”

“They are doing well. As I understand it, they are busy studying for their finals,” Quentin said.

Dumbledore nodded. “They do not have to take them so soon though. With all that happened, most students have rescheduled their O.W.L.s and will take them during the Summer.”

“You know my grandniece.” Quentin smiled. As if a thing like the Battle of Hogwarts, as people started to call it, would keep Hermione from studying and her tests. Chip of the old block, she was.

“Indeed. Miss Granger is very… studious.” Dumbledore smiled, but he looked even worse now than when he had arrived. He was sweating too, Quentin noticed. “If there is nothing else, then I will take my leave now. A lot of work is waiting for me at Hogwarts.” He hadn’t talked about their future education, Quentin noticed, to the Watcher’s surprise.

“I can imagine that, sir.” Quentin could - losing just about your whole staff was a catastrophe in itself for any school. He stood up and opened the door for the old wizard.

It was a catastrophe for Hogwarts, but an opportunity for the Council to recruit more wizards. Many students would be looking for tutors, and the Watchers had some of the best when it came to what the Wizards called ‘Defense against the Dark Arts’.

Of course, the Watchers just called it ‘combat’.

*****

“We could reschedule the tests, you know. Everyone is doing it.”

Hermione Granger looked up from her notes at her boyfriend and glared at him. “If everyone is jumping out of the window, do we do the same?” Rescheduling their O.W.L.s would feel as if letting Voldemort have one last victory, one last disruption of their lives. She wasn’t about to let that monster have that.

“There’s a bit of a difference between rescheduling our O.W.L.s and jumping out of the window. Unless we have brooms. Speaking of, don’t think that I’ll let you skip flying lessons.” Harry glared back at her.

Hermione didn’t pout, but she might have come close. She didn’t like skipping any lesson, but flying… “Broom flying is no O.W.L. subject.”

“It should be. But It doesn’t matter. If we do not reschedule our O.W.L.s we do not reschedule lessons that could save your life one day.” Harry stared at her now, and Hermione caved. If she had been able to fly a broom, had carried one with her, maybe Fitzburg wouldn’t have...

“OK.” At least they’d visit Ron and the other Weasleys for the flying lessons. Hermione would be able to ask the twins a few things she hadn’t found in her Potions books.

“Did you tell Dumbledore yet that we’re not returning for 6th year?” Harry asked a few minutes later.

“Not yet. We don’t have to tell him until Summer.”

“We need to tell him. We owe it to him,” Harry said, closing the book he had been reading.

Hermione sighed. “Yes, we do. I’d just… I don’t want to tell him now, not when he’s still so… frail.” She couldn’t help but fearing that the news would hurt the old Wizard, and make whatever was ailing him worse.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Harry stood up and walked over to her, sitting down on the table next to her.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I want to become a Watcher. Like Uncle Quentin. The Council needs us, Humanity needs us. Far more than Wizarding Britain needs another muggleborn trying to make a difference, or a famous seeker. We’ll save countless lives here.”

Harry nodded at her. “It’ll be dangerous though.”

“No more dangerous than a professional Quidditch match.” Hermione responded, with some heat in her voice. The amount of times Harry had been hurt, or could have been hurt, playing that stupid, insane game…

Harry grinned at her, then hopped off the table and took her hand, pulling her up. “Let’s take a break. You’re getting grumpy.”

She stood up and narrowed her eyes. “Grumpy?” That was a new one. “Are you trying to fill in for Ron?” Their friend was usually the one trying to make them take breaks and telling her she was overdoing it when they were studying.

Harry smiled at her, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “No. Ron wouldn’t do … this!”

Hermione felt herself pulled close to him, and then he dipped - dipped! - her for a kiss.

They didn’t study that day. Not for the O.W.L.s at least. Hermione didn’t mind though. Not at all.

*********


	20. Epilogues

**Epilogue I: India**

India Cohen grinned in anticipation. In the months since the Battle of Hogwarts - some called it the ‘Invasion of Hogwarts’, but those were wizards. It was a battle, simple - it hadn’t taken her long to recover from her wounds. She was tough and she had been back to hunting vampires and other demons quickly. And to unwind with Kit, of course. But there hadn’t been a real challenge since then, no fight that really tested her. The mission - or hunt - she was on now though could be such a challenge.

The local watcher in British Guiana had called the Council after a wave of disappearances from villages near an old ruin in the jungle. Local legends spoke of werecreatures - werejaguars, probably, according to Kit - haunting the area. India hadn’t had a good fight against a were yet, at least not during the full moon, and since they arrived right on time, she might get her wish.

As long as their native guide, Mister Alan Smith, whose parents had come over from Birmingham, didn’t lose his nerve and leave them before they reached the haunted temple, or whatever it was called. She was India the Slayer, not Indiana Jones.

The man Kit had hired had not impressed her. She was certain the only reason he had agreed to guide them was that his greed had won out over his fear - and India could tell that the closer they were getting to the temple ruins, the more his fear was growing. He was already nervous, jumping at any noise he heard - even if it was, as it had always been so far, just an animal fleeing from them. Though now that she thought about it, it had been a while since she had heard the last such sound...

“What is the matter, India?” Kit asked. Of course he had noticed her reaction, and had his Steyr Scout rifle ready, with silver bullets in .308 Winchester. With his khakis and floppy hat, Kit would just need to stop shaving for a day or two, and he’d make a great Indiana Jones. India banished the thoughts that had evoked - there would be time later, when they were back, or maybe in the evening, at the camp. The guide had been making comments about them, when he had thought they wouldn’t hear him. India hadn’t told Kit, of course. Even though she liked it when he became protective of her, they needed the guide.

“The jungle has gone quiet.” She drew her machete, and inhaled deeply. No scent that did not belong. They’d be downwind then.

“Too quiet.” Kit was looking around.

“What are you doing?” Smith was staring back at the couple, leaning against a tree. He was sweating more than either of them, and India thought it was fear and not the heat.

“The jungle’s gone too quiet.” She told him, looking up. The canopy provided an excellent cover where the lack of sun had killed the underbrush. And too many humans never looked up in the jungle.

“Fuck, you’re right.” Smith unslung his own rifle, a Lee-Enfield No. 5, but India saw his hands tremble. He’d not hit much like that. Then she saw something move above him.

“Watch out!”

Smith froze and looked at her, and before India could say anything else, a noose dropped on him from above, and the man was hauled up towards the canopy, choking and kicking. India tried to cut the rope with a throwing knife, but she missed and then she had to dodge an attacker trying to get the drop on her - literally.

What looked like a catman pounced on her from above, but she slid to the side, and before the monster had recovered, her machete - with silver inlays - had split his head. 

Behind her Kit started shooting. India heard a monster scream, and another, but even as she turned, he was getting tackled by a third. India yelled and charged the monster - no one hurt her Watcher! Her first swing cut into its back, and with an inhuman roar, the werejaguar - at least she thought it was one - let go of Kit and swiped at her while blood ran down its back. India ducked under the swing and drove her shoulder into its stomach, smashing it against the tree behind it, then drew a silver throwing knife and cut its throat before it had recovered its breath. It was still choking on its own blood when she was already whirling around.

A dozen of the monsters were closing on her, and Kit. Her lover’s left arm was bleeding and he was drawing his Browning, his rifle probably lost already. He wouldn’t make it though; those monsters were too fast. Almost as fast as the Slayer. Almost.

India ran at the first to get close to Kit, and swung her machete at it. The catman jumped back, as she had expected, and her foot caught the other trying to get to Kit in the ribs, smashing it to the side. Kit shot it twice and India beheaded the one she had driven back.

Then the other ten were upon them. India heard Kit shooting rapidly while she gutted one pouncing on her with a slash with her blade. Dodging the corpse, she got hit by another attacker from behind and screamed when she felt claws rip into her side. Bleeding she stumbled, but caught the monster with a backhand swing. Then she heard Kit’s pistol run dry, followed by his scream.

“Kit!” She whirled around and saw two monsters on top of her Watcher. Before she could do anything to them though, another hit her from behind, the force of the blow driving her to the ground. She managed to flip around, and catch the next attack on her blade, slicing off a paw, but another was already grabbing her leg, and a third was striking at her head with a club.

  
She couldn’t block that one, not with her blade buried in a monster chest, and she couldn’t roll away with the corpse on her. Kit would be so disappointed that she had let herself be distracted…

*****

India woke up with a splitting headache, and found herself bound hand and foot. Her side ached, and she felt weak, and cold - she had lost a lot of blood, she knew the symptoms. She twisted her body, and hissed at the pain that caused. She was lying on the stone floor of a ruined temple. A temple decorated with skulls, fresh skulls. Around her about a dozen of the werecreatures were chanting, and one of them, wearing what looked like the skin of one really big snake, had his arms raised and was holding an obsidian knife… and in front of him, tied to a stone block, was Kit! He was bleeding, bruised, but alive.

“Kit!” India yelled, and saw him turn his head. Before he could say anything though, the stone knife descended, and the monster with the snakeskin started to cut into his chest. Kit screamed, but kept looking at India. The monster was cutting his heart out! Someone was screaming louder than Kit, and she didn’t realize it was herself until Kit was dead.

Her Watcher was dead. Her lover was dead. India screamed again, but not with horror, or anguish, or pain, but pure hatred and rage. She snapped her bonds and jumped at the closest catman. Her fist smashed into its face, her knee into its groin, and down it went. She grabbed its neck, and twisted until it broke. The remaining monsters seemed shocked for an instant, and India used the opportunity to grab the club of her first victim and smash the skull of the next. 

Then the slaughter began in earnest. India was cut and hit, her face laid open, but they couldn’t stop her, couldn’t stop the Slayer. Soon she had a knife, like the one that had taken Kit’s life, and the monsters screamed and bled and died. The one with the Snakeskin was screaming too, and holding Kit’s heart into a fire. He was still screaming when her club smashed its ugly head. She pulled Kit’s heart out of the fire before it could burn.

Kit was dead, but she had avenged him. Holding his heart, she collapsed over his body, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

*****

A few hours later, in Los Angeles, a fifteen year old girl woke up from a nightmare filled with monsters and girls who fought and died. She didn’t realize she had somehow smashed her alarm clock until she had wrecked the doorknob to her bathroom. Her parents were not amused.

*****

**Epilogue 2: Hermione**

Hermione Granger stared at the parchment in her hands. Her N.E.W.T.s results, dropped by a Ministry owl just a moment ago. It had been over two years since Voldemort had been killed. Almost two years since the Slayer had died. She knew another girl had been called, but she still thought of India when she thought of the Slayer. 

A lot had changed since then, for her and Harry. They had passed their O.W.L.s before India had died, but, as planned, they had not returned to Hogwarts. Many of their friends there had not understood. Ron had, though. Even if he had joked that he had only gone back for Quidditch and his mother, their friend had done the same they had done - studied for his life after Hogwarts. He was going to be an Auror. 

Hermione was happy for him, even though she had hoped he’d become a Watcher too. It would have been nice to stay together, the three of them. Saving the world, once again. But Harry had been correct - Ron wouldn’t fit in with the Council. Too many of the other Watcher Wizards had issues with purebloods, and being the best friend of Harry and Hermione wouldn’t go that far with those Watchers. Their friend had changed too, of course. As one of the Heroes of Hogwarts, having faced Voldemort himself, and being responsible for the evacuation of most of the children, he had become quite famous. He was handling his fame better than she would have expected - but then, so many had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron knew the cost of his fame. But he’d be a good Auror. At least in the field, judging by their last training session. Hermione pitied whoever had to deal with his paperwork though.

Sighing, she ran a finger over the seal on the parchment. Soon Ron would marry Lavender. Who’d have thought the flighty girl from her dorm would change into a serious young woman? A bit possessive, in Hermione’s opinion, but that was quite understandable. The young muggleborn witch had had to deal with a number of witches after one of the Heroes of Hogwarts herself. And if she ever managed to meet Skeeter without witnesses and with a secure alibi…

“You haven’t opened it yet?” Harry’s surprised voice shook her from slightly evil thoughts. “I’d have thought you’d have ripped it open before the owl could land!” her boyfriend said.

Hermione smiled wrily. “I would have thought so myself. But then I realized - this is it.” She held the parchment up. “With this, we are done with Wizarding Britain.”

Harry frowned. “It’s not as if we’re abandoning our friends. Or our family.”

“Not that. I know we’re not leaving them. But we’re done with the official part. Parts. No more tests, no more regulations, no more permits. We’re done with them, we’re fully adults as far as they are concerned, and there’s nothing they can hold over us anymore.” Hermione grinned.

Harry snorted. “There was nothing they could do to us once Voldemort was dead and we were with the Council. And we’ll still have to deal with the press and fans.”

  
“You have to deal with them, you mean.” Hermione smirked, though a small part of her couldn’t help feel annoyed at the fact that she, the muggleborn witch, was not quite as famous as Harry or Ron. Despite the reforms of Minister Bones, Hermione felt that Wizarding Britain was still not a place where muggleborns had truly equal chances. But another part of her, a cynical one, welcomed that - it made recruiting other Watcher Wizards a bit easier. She didn’t like thinking those thoughts, either thoughts. 

“That’s just because of what you did to that reporter from ‘Teen Witch Weekly’ when she claimed that the power of love defeated Voldemort.”

  
Hermione glared at him. “She made up some ‘tantric ritual’, and claimed that the sacrifice of my virginity to you mortally wounded Voldemort! Despite all the witnesses and evidence at Hogwarts!” 

“Well… yes. But Dumbledore set them straight. Cursing the letter asking for another interview was a bit too much.”

Hermione sniffed. “I have no idea who did that. Given her style of writing, she must have a number of enemies.” If only Skeeter had been as careless… “How is Dumbledore doing, anyway?”

“He is doing ‘as well as one can expect at my age’,” Harry answered, frowning again. 

Hermione sighed. The Headmaster still hadn’t recovered from the curses he had been struck with during the battle with Voldemort. He was so frail, he had stepped down from his political offices rather quickly. 

Harry stepped up to her, and pulled her in an embrace. “Cheer up. Ron’s wedding is coming. We’ll meet everyone from school.”

“You’re not the one who has to wear bridesmaid robes picked by Lavender and Parvati.” Fashion in Wizarding Britain needed an update too, in her opinion.

“I am certain you’ll look stunning in them.” Harry grinned. 

He likely had asked Colin for pictures already. Maybe she should talk with Fred and George, about a few pranks for Ron’s best man, to liven up the wedding… No, she couldn’t do that to Ron.

“Come on, open it!” Harry nudged her.

Hermione smiled at him, and then broke the seal, and read her N.E.W.T.s results.

*****

** Author's notes: As the epilogue hints at, there will be a sequel, set in Sunnydale, during Season 3 of Buffy - though with a few changes to canon.  **


End file.
